


Clockwork Queen

by NotEnoughAnswers



Series: Shadowhunters [1]
Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 265,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6093502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEnoughAnswers/pseuds/NotEnoughAnswers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had never particularly wanted to become a Shadowhunter, or find myself stuck in the year 1878, or even fall in love. In fact, there were a lot of things I hadn't particularly wanted. But they were happening anyway, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FanFiction.Net, February 2016.

_**"Time is too slow for those who wait,** _

_**Too swift for those who fear,** _

_**Too long for those who grieve,** _

_**Too short for those who rejoice,** _

_**But for those who love, Time is eternity."** _

_**-Henry Van Dyke** _

_**Somewhere in California, May 1978** _

**R** ain splattered heavily onto the roof of the seedy motel we were staying at, seeping through the cracks in the plaster roof and dripping into the buckets I'd strategically placed under the gaps in the ceiling. The steady _drip-drip-drip_ had been an annoyance at first, but during the night I'd gradually grown accustomed to the sound until I barely registered it anymore.

Above the sound of the rain, I heard the low whoosh of a strong gust of wind, and the building creaked loudly. I pulled the musty blanket up tighter around myself, shutting my eyes while envisioning beaches and palm trees. I wished I knew where my mother had gone.

As soon as I'd gotten home from school the previous day, she had run into my room, wild-eyed, and demanded that I pack my things. We were driving to Los Angeles straight away, she informed me, and there was no guarantee that we'd ever get back home.

"Mom," I'd exclaimed, exasperated, "I know you have a tendency to overreact, but we can't just pack our bags and _leave_ —"

"Abby," she'd said firmly, a determined spark in her blue eyes, "We need to get to an Institute _now_ , and the one in Los Angeles is the closest."

No matter how much I'd insisted to know what was going on, she wouldn't elaborate any further, and I'd been forced to fill my suitcase with clothes and keepsakes, knowing that we'd probably be back within the week. My mother often got strange ideas in her head—from time to time she would swear that someone was following us, and I was used to staying at hotels and motels in different cities around the state until she announced that the danger had passed—so I hadn't taken her seriously at first.

We'd only driven for around three hours when she'd pulled over at a dingy motel in the middle of the desert and announced we were staying the night. I'd certainly stayed in worse places, but this wasn't the best by a long shot. My bed was far too narrow, pushed against the window so that no matter how I drew the curtains, I could still see a glimpse of the parking lot, and the tiny television refused to work. The lamp on the bedside table wouldn't turn on and the water that spewed out of the sink and shower was tinged a revolting brown color. Worse still, I could see a large black spider on the wall above the second bed, but I was too scared to throw a shoe at it in case it fell down, hence the reason I had chosen the bed nearest the window.

My mother had hurried out of the room the second we'd arrived, muttering about how she had to do something important. This I found slightly odd, since she usually locked us in the room and nearly went hysterical if I even tried to open the window, so her prolonged absence was even more unusual. When that was combined with the storm currently raging outside and my exhaustion, I was, to say the least, worried.

A flash suddenly lit up the room and I jerked upright in bed, my heart pounding. But after a moment I realized it had just been lightning, confirmed by the booming crash of thunder that reverberated around the room and nearly deafened me.

After casting a wary glance across the room to make sure the spider was still in the same place, I turned my attention to the dull red numbers of the alarm clock next to the broken lamp: _1:58 AM._ My mother had been gone for nearly three hours, and aside from my worry about her and my unease from the storm, I was absolutely starving, since I'd had nothing aside from a few French fries at dinner. To top that all off, my mind was churning over the questions that had been bothering me for hours and that I was still no closer to finding the answer: _Why?_

I was used to running around and hiding by now, trying to flee an unknown threat, but something about this time felt different. Every time I saw that panicked spark in my mother's eyes, every time she snapped at me to pack my things, I felt my heart slowly sink deeper into my stomach, but this time had been the worst of all. I'd long ago stopped questioning my mother about why she went into her strange hysterics, and although I'd loved the adventure and excitement when I was younger, now I just wanted stability. I had just turned sixteen and dreamt of going to New York City for college in just over two years, where I would hopefully study music at Juilliard. I'd played the piano since I was four years old and had performed in numerous recitals all over San Francisco. Although my hopes of getting into Juilliard would probably never come to fruition, there were nevertheless many other music schools in New York where I could study.

Jerking myself out of my sudden daydream of flawlessly performing a piece of classical music, Beethoven or Mozart perhaps, at a recital in front of hundreds of people, I forced myself to think about less pleasant things, like why my mother had insisted that we go to the Los Angeles Institute. That had been the _last_ place I'd believed she would take us. No, this trip was definitely not like the others. Perhaps whatever she'd been fearing for the past sixteen years had finally arrived. The thought made my stomach clench uncomfortably.

My father, Jonathan Cartwright, was a Shadowhunter who had once lived in the LA Institute with his family. He had met my mother, Grace, a mundane, when he was sixteen—the same age I was now—and they had instantly fallen in love, secretly dating for two years where he'd taught her all about the Nephilim and the Shadow World. My mother had learned how to fight and could recite passages from the _Codex_ just as flawlessly as any Shadowhunter. When they were eighteen, they'd gotten engaged and my mother had requested permission to Ascend, as a Shadowhunter and a mundane could not marry. After three months of deliberation, the Clave had refused his offer and my father had in turn ceased being a Shadowhunter, removing his Marks and choosing instead to live a mundane life with my mother in San Francisco. She became pregnant shortly after their wedding, but their happy life was to be cut short two weeks after I was born. Dad received word that there had been a Greater Demon attack on the LA Institute, his old home, and that his family was losing—badly. Despite the fact that his Marks were gone and he had lost most of his strength and powers, he rushed right to the Institute to help, despite my mother's warnings to be careful. Of course, he couldn't last long against a Greater Demon, and even with a seraph blade he was killed minutes after he arrived.

Since he was no longer a Shadowhunter, he wasn't given a "proper" burial, and so the task was left upon my mother to arrange his funeral and he was buried in a nondescript cemetery several blocks from our house; in fact, I often took a shortcut through the graveyard on the way to school and laid flowers on his grave. When I was younger, I used to talk to him and tell him about the problems I'd had that day and how Mom was doing—at least until I was in eighth grade and a group of boys from school had followed me all the way to the cemetery and laughed at me pretending to talk to my father. Shamefaced, I'd run home in tears and never spoken out loud to my father again—but I did still sometimes speak to him in my mind.

Understandably, my grieving mother blamed the Clave and the Shadow World for Dad's death, and so vowed to remove all traces of it from her memory, discarding any of my father's old possessions that carried some connection to his old life with it.

Of course, she couldn't rid herself of the heritage completely: Nephilim blood was dominant, and so I, her daughter, was technically a Shadowhunter. She did allow the standard newborn protection ceremony to be placed on me so that I would be free of demonic influences, but aside from that she had raised me pretending that I was just a normal child. I would occasionally see past glamours when I was younger, and I would be able to see things that other children couldn't and instinctively know if someone had connections with the Shadow World, but my mother had just shrugged it off and made me believe I was seeing things.

Although I hadn't known it at the time, when I was six years old a member of the Clave had shown up at our house and requested to see me—every six years, Nephilim children who were born of a mundane were offered the chance to become Shadowhunters. Of course, I had heard my mother shouting and I'd hid in my room until the visitor had left. Mom had hugged me and brought me a cookie, saying that it had just been a salesman trying to make her buy something she didn't want.

I'd been satisfied with that explanation, at least until I was twelve. This time I'd opened the door for a tall, broad-shouldered man who introduced himself as Andrew Lightwood. He'd immediately asked me how much my mother had told me about the Shadow World, and my baffled stare must have been answer enough, since he immediately began explaining about my heritage and who my father had been. I'd always believed he'd been killed in a car crash, so the knowledge that he had actually been killed fighting demons was a bit of a shock, to say the least. Normally, I would have dismissed Andrew Lightwood as insane and shut the door, but he seemed to know everything about my parents, and even understood the fact that I sometimes saw strange things. Mom had come inside then, and must have immediately concluded that there was no point in making up excuses anymore, so she allowed him to tell me everything.

Of course, I'd been bewildered at first, and fired off a round of questions—why did my father have to leave the Clave? Did I have to become a Shadowhunter? Why had my mother never told me about what I _really_ was before?—and after Andrew Lightwood had answered them to the best of his abilities, he told me he would give me a week to let the information sink in before I made my decision whether I wanted to become a Shadowhunter or not.

As soon as he'd left, Mom had apologized to me, saying she just wanted to keep me safe and that she didn't want me to be killed in battle as Dad had. She told me that I could choose to become a Shadowhunter if I so wished, however, but that I would be required by law never to see her again.

It didn't take me long to make my decision—I'd never been one to recklessly throw myself into new situations and jump headfirst into a world I knew next to nothing about, so after the week had passed I had kindly but firmly told Andrew Lightwood that I had no interest in becoming a Shadowhunter, that I felt that staying with my mother was more important. He had coolly nodded and informed me that he would return when I was eighteen one last time; after that, the path of Shadowhunting would disappear to me forever. My mother, I could tell, was relieved beyond belief that I had refused to join the Clave, and had done her best to scare me away by telling me horrific stories that had happened to Shadowhunters and how terrible and pure evil demons were. Now that I was older, I knew that most of it had been greatly exaggerated and that she'd just been painting the undesirable side of the life to me, but at the time I'd shied away from anything that reminded me of it. When I'd seen things out of the corner of my eyes or I would be able to sense something that no one else could, I'd become terrified and had blocked it out of my mind, a tactic I still employed even today. During my early teens, I had attempted as best as I could to delude myself that demons and Downworlders didn't _really_ exist, that my eyes just liked to play tricks on me and that I had won the genetic lottery when it came to physical abilities (I'd always been faster and stronger than the other children my age, although I'd never been interested in sports despite the teachers' numerous attempts to convince me to play on their teams). I'd told myself that when my mother dragged me along on these strange trips, she was simply running from the Clave trying to recruit me. When I watched a movie with my friends and a passing mention was made of demons and angels or even vampires and werewolves, my heart always began to pound a little faster and I couldn't look anybody in the eye in case one of them noticed I was acting strange. But I managed to push those thoughts out of my mind and laugh along with the others—most of the time.

Perhaps some part of me had always known that I wouldn't be able to escape the Shadow World forever, that it took hold of a person and irrevocably changed their lives whether they wanted it to or not, if that was truly their destiny, but I had repressed all the signs that pointed to my life eventually becoming intertwined with the angel blood that ran in my veins out of plain fear and desire to have a simple life.

That time, it seemed, was fast running out.

While the storm raged on, I pulled the pillow over my head, burying my face in the scratchy sheets and trying to relax myself enough so that I could fall asleep. But my body refused to give in and begrudge me the rest I so desperately needed. No matter how hard I tried to focus on deep breathing and counting sheep, my brain would jump to yet another question within seconds: Where was my mother? Why had she been gone so long? Was she in danger? Was _I_ in danger? If we did manage to get to the Los Angeles Institute, would my grandmother, who still lived there, take us in? The family of Shadowhunters who left the Clave were strictly forbidden to see them once they became mundanes, under no circumstances. I'd never met my paternal grandmother, although I was named after her. Would she like me, or would she try to force me to become a Shadowhunter and abandon my mother?

My stomach clenched painfully, followed by a rumble that was nearly as loud as the thunder outside. I groaned and wrapped my hands around my midsection, trying to ignore the hunger that was clawing at my insides. That combined with the anxiety and certainty only helped to fuel my dizziness and make me wish that I'd just stayed at home and flat-out refused to follow my mother on one of her irrational, crazy trips.

She'd told me before she had left not to leave the room at all, and like an obedient daughter, I'd listened to her. It was the kind of situation where, in books, the heroine would defy orders and go looking for her mother regardless of whatever danger was lurking outside—but then again, a heroine would also choose to become a Shadowhunter instead of pretending to live as a mundane, and I certainly wasn't a heroine—I wasn't even close. I was just Abby, a painfully shy, gawky girl who had been bullied for talking to her father's grave and who apparently had the blood of an angel running in her veins. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was certain that Andrew Lightwood had made a mistake and had been confusing me with some other girl.

I rolled over for the countless time so that I was facing outward into the dark room. I could just see the outline of the spider on the wall, and prayed that Mom would be back soon, if, for no other reason, that she would be able to kill it. I had always hated spiders and any type of bug—if it crawled, I was afraid of it. This was generally a nonissue in San Francisco, but out here in the desert was probably the worst place for an insectophobe like me to be. Unfortunately, it hadn't been my choice.

Maybe, I thought with a sudden rush of hope, she was out finding food for us, and she'd had to drive a long distance before she came to a corner store. _A three-hour drive?_ my cynical mind reminded me, and I quickly shushed it, instead imagining what types of food she would bring back. Pizza would be ideal, with some cans of soda thrown in…hell, I would even be happy with a chocolate bar or fruit. I wasn't picky at this point.

The thought of food gave me the worst pang of hunger yet, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to lie here starving for the rest of the night. Something told me Mom wasn't going to come back anytime soon, and I was liable to faint or need insulin by morning. I didn't even have water to quench my parched throat.

There was a good chance there would be a vending machine in the motel lobby—if I hurried straight there and back, I would probably be safe. I didn't think there would be very many people walking around in the middle of a thunderstorm, either.

Throwing the covers away from me, I stood up and began to feel my way through the dark room, keeping a wide berth from the spider. I imagined it clicking its pincers evilly as my hand closed around the doorknob to the bathroom and I gratefully ducked inside, flicking on the light and blinking several times in quick succession, trying to wake myself up. When I felt as if my retinas had been permanently burned, I turned on the tap and tried not to think about the brown water as I splashed some up onto my face, staring gloomily at my reflection.

Mom had always told me that I was the absolute spitting image of my father, and judging by the only picture I had of him, I was inclined to agree with her. While Mom was slender and tiny, with bright blue eyes and short brown hair cut into a bob, Dad had been tall and muscular, with a handsome ruggedness to his face. I'd inherited his large, almost permanently surprised-looking brown eyes and long blonde hair that I usually kept tied up into a ponytail. I had always had a layer of muscle on me, no matter how much I sat on the couch watching TV, and my high cheekbones and general facial structure were the same as his had been. Unfortunately, the one thing I _hadn't_ inherited from him was his height—at five feet four, I was stubbornly stuck at average. I was certain that my mother's small stature had balanced that out—perhaps it was the only thing I'd inherited from her.

When I was satisfied that I no longer resembled a zombie, I left the bathroom and slipped over to the main door, hoping that the storm would clear up soon. The lightning appeared to be taking a temporary break, and the only sound now was the rain lashing against the roof. _Damn it_ , I realized, I didn't even have an umbrella.

Well, it looked like I would have to run. Grabbing my purse from where it hung on the rack next to the door, I slung it over my shoulder and yanked open the door, stepping outside into the torrential downpour.

Despite the rain, it was still humid and muggy, and my lungs felt like they were filling up with water as I jogged down the pathway to where a dim light from the main lobby was visible through the sheets of rain. I held my purse up over my head as I dashed past several parked cars toward the light, wondering if this was what sailors felt like when their ships were stuck in hurricanes and they caught sight of a lighthouse in the distance.

To my dismay, our car was still in the same place Mom had parked it. Unless she'd left and then come back without going to our room, she hadn't gone to get food as I'd hoped. Now I was really starting to become scared. She had never left for this long before—should I speak to the clerk at the front desk and ask them to search for her?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape moving on the opposite side of the car. My thoughts scattered, I stopped in my tracks, hoping that it had just been a racoon or crow. "Is anyone there?" I asked loudly, but the only sound that answered me was the rain.

 _Don't panic, Abby,_ I told myself as I walked around the side of the car. _You see things like this all the time. It's just worse now because it's dark and you're alone._

When I peered around the edge of the car, I half-expected something to jump out at me, but to my surprise and relief there was nothing there. Maybe I'd just been imagining things and it was my overtired brain tricking me.

At any rate, it probably wasn't the wisest idea to stay outside any longer, since I was already soaking wet, and I turned my back on the car to hurry through the parking lot to the lobby.

I'd never been so grateful to see the garish, brightly colored interior of a motel lobby in my life. Once I was safely inside, I leaned against the door breathing hard, as if I'd just run a marathon instead of a hundred feet. When my heart had slowed down to its normal pace, I opened my eyes and surveyed the empty room, noting with disappointment that the desk was empty. Had even the desk clerk decided to go home instead of braving out the storm?

"Hello?" I called, taking a cautious step further into the lobby, but there was no answer. I could hear the low hum of the air conditioner in the corner of the room, and my skin erupted in goosebumps at the cold air. First it had been too warm outside, and now I was freezing. Was it not possible to have a happy medium?

My stomach growled, reminding me of my purpose for leaving the relative comfort of my room in the first place. Luckily, I spotted a vending machine across the far wall and immediately started towards it, reaching in my purse for a wallet.

Mom had given me the purse for my thirteenth birthday, and I'd never gone anywhere without it since then. It was small, just enough to fit a few essential items, but so far I'd always managed to fit everything I needed in it. I usually wore it slung across my chest—making it more difficult for potential thieves to get at, as I'd learned in Girl Scouts—and it was dark blue, tonight blending perfectly with my T-shirt and jeans. I rubbed my bare arms with my hands to get rid of the goosebumps, wishing I'd brought a sweater.

I only carried four items in my purse: my wallet, the house key, a picture of my parents and I, and my father's journal. The last two were precious to me; the picture being that it was the only physical reminder I had of my father and the only picture of us together. It was taken the day I was born by one of the nurses at the hospital: my father, beaming, with his arm around my exhausted but triumphant-looking mother, who was holding a swath of blankets in my arms. You could just see my pink, wrinkled face, looking like something that was barely human, but I treasured it anyway. On the back was a description in my mother's handwriting: _Jonathan, Grace and Abigail Cartwright, March 7, 1962._

Dad's journal was old, the pages yellowed and creased, but I vowed to keep it forever. Only ten of the pages were written in—he'd started it when my mother went into labour, chronicling my birth and the first fourteen days of my life—and I had memorized every sentence written in his strong, sure hand, running over the letters with my fingers and imagining some bit of his spirit still existed in the pages. The last entry had been written the morning of his death, twelve hours before he died, and my heart contracted every time I read it, wishing I could somehow travel back in time and beg him not to go fight the demon, to stay with Mom and I instead…

The vending machine groaned loudly as it spat out my bag of chips and Coke. I immediately snatched them up and tore open the bag of chips, stuffing three of them into my mouth at once. I was too hungry to wait until I'd gotten back to my room, and besides, there was nobody around to see me eat, anyway.

As soon as the food hit my stomach, I began to regain strength, feeling more optimistic about my current situation. Mom would come back—she always did. Maybe she was staying with another one of the guests who was afraid of storms (she often had our neighbor's young son over when he was home alone and there was a thunderstorm), or she'd borrowed someone's car so that it would make her more difficult to track. It was exactly something that her paranoid mind would think up.

Although the junk food hadn't completely filled me, I wasn't feeling as faint as I had been before, and I was just beginning to realize how tired I really was. If I managed to forget about the spider on the wall, I could probably manage to get to sleep. And if Mom _still_ hadn't returned when I woke up, I would get the car and go looking for her myself—I'd just got my learner's permit, and even if I wasn't _legally_ allowed to drive without a licensed adult in the car, I did, at least, have a rudimentary knowledge of how it worked.

Cheered by these thoughts, I headed out of the lobby and back into the muggy night. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and although I could hear the low growl of thunder in the distance, it sounded much farther away and I could even see a break in the clouds, above which a sprinkling of stars shone brightly.

That sight gave me hope, and I was almost smiling as I hurried back through the line of cars to our room, suddenly glad that I hadn't locked the door. Mom had taken the only key with her—a precaution in case I would 'get ideas' about leaving the room, but then again, she could hardly blame me for getting food hours after she'd left.

My eyes scanned over the parking lot briefly as I crossed it—and that was when I saw the dark shape again. This time it was farther away from me, but that didn't make me feel any less panicked. The hope I'd been feeling seconds before immediately vanished as I stared over at the hunched form. It definitely wasn't human, that much I could tell, and it appeared to be standing still rather than moving. I had the unnerving sense it was looking right at me.

I froze in my spot, my heart leaping into my throat, just as a bright flash of lightning lit up the lot, and I found myself staring at nothing. The dark shape had disappeared as soon as the lightning had hit, and someone could be forgiven for thinking they were just seeing things. But I knew better.

Forcing my trembling legs to move again, I ran past the row of doors, slowing only when I heard the tinny sound of a laugh track floating out from one of the rooms. I paused in front of it, suddenly comforted. The knowledge that I wasn't the only soul for miles came as a great relief to me, and I almost knocked on the door and asked whoever was occupying the room if I could stay with them for a while. But I knew that a teenage girl asking a stranger for help in the middle of a deserted stretch of road at night wasn't the safest thing to do, and I liked to imagine that I was braver than that—so, with the knowledge that there was at least _one_ other person I could turn to if I was truly in danger, I continued on, idly lamenting over the fact that their TV worked and ours didn't.

Without looking back across the lot to see if the dark shape was still lurking about somewhere, I pushed open the door to our room and double-bolted the lock, hoping that it was strong enough to hold if someone _did_ try to break in. Noting with another sense of relief that the spider still hadn't moved, I scurried across the room to my bed without reaching for my suitcase to change into a pair of dry clothes and climbed under the covers, shutting my eyes tightly and forcing myself not to think about the fact that my mother was still gone, and if the dark shape I'd seen was somehow connected with her disappearance…

* * *

It was still dark outside when I woke up, my cheek scratching against the cheap material of the pillow. My mind was muddled, my thoughts disoriented, and it was with disappointment that the alarm clock stated it was just past four o'clock in the morning: I'd only had an hour and a half of sleep.

 _At least the storm stopped,_ I thought grudgingly to myself as my eyes automatically sought out the wall for the spider, before realizing with a start that it was no longer there. My gaze raked across the ceiling and then the floor, unfortunately finding nothing. Well, I supposed that it couldn't stay there forever, but still, I would have liked to know where it had gone.

I turned over in bed so that I wouldn't be tempted to continue looking for it, and just before I was about to close my eyes again I looked up at the small gap between the curtain and the window, wanting to see if I could catch a glimpse of the stars before I went back to sleep.

There _was_ something there, all right, but it definitely wasn't the stars.

One large, slit-pupiled eye was staring through the window at me, its irises unblinking and red.

A scream tore through my throat before I fully realized what was happening: my instincts worked before my mind did, propelling me out of the bed. I was on my feet before my brain caught up with me, grabbing my purse from where it rested on the pillow. I half-expected the window to smash as whatever that… _creature_ …was tried to get to me, but there was no movement at all.

Nevertheless, I continued to back up across the room, running over my options in my head. I couldn't leave the room since that thing was outside, so that meant the bathroom was the only place to hide. But what if it tried to get in and cornered me? I could always grab the shower rod and use that as a weapon.

When I reached the bathroom, I jumped inside and closed the door behind me before turning on the light. Not content just to stand there, I climbed into the bathtub and yanked the shower curtain closed, only to see the spider clinging on to the curtain inches from my hand.

I screamed again and nearly tripped over the edge in my rush to get away from it, but my hand moved too abruptly and the spider fell down onto the tiled floor. I leapt away from it and grabbed the doorknob, watching in horror as it began to scuttle across the floor toward me. It was nearly the size of the palm of my hand and I was close enough to see the individual hairs on its body as it came ever closer.

That was it: I wrenched open the bathroom door and stepped out into the main room, pulling it shut just before the spider could reach me. The crack under the door was too small for it to fit through, and it closed right on one of its legs, the end piece slicing cleanly off and falling onto my shoe.

Sick with terror, I shook it off and backed up onto the wall. I couldn't help but feel a shred of pity of the spider despite my overwhelming fear of them—I'd just hacked one of its legs off and its body had probably smashed against the door. But while it was probably bleeding to death right now, I was being chased by a strange dark shape and had just come face-to-face with a reptilian eye. I would almost rather have been in the spider's position.

No sooner had I thought this than I saw the dark shape for the third time—but this time I sensed rather than saw something moving under my bed. Before my incredulous eyes, a long, scaly leg unfurled itself and stretched out toward me, its claws digging into the carpet.

This time, I didn't scream. I simply whirled around and pulled the door open, not even bothering to slam it behind me as I sprinted outside, tearing across the parking lot and running faster than I ever had before in my life.

In hindsight, it was probably a stupid idea: but the thought of going to ask any of the other guests if I could hide in their rooms or dashing back into my room to find the car key were even worse ideas, so I settled for blindly running away from the creature, despite the fact that it was most likely much faster than me and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but empty road for miles and miles.

My purse thumped against my chest as I skidded onto the road, still running as fast as I could. I had no idea which way led to Los Angeles and which way to San Francisco, but if I managed to reach either of those cities I wasn't going to be picky. If I made it to LA, I would go straight to the Institute and beg my grandmother to let me in, and if I made it back home to San Francisco I would call the police and hide at the house.

But I hadn't made it more than fifty feet before there was an enormous crash behind me and the earth began to shake under my feet, mounds of dirt erupting from the ground and spewing out in front of me. This only prompted me to push myself harder, leaping over cracks in the road and kicking my way through the dirt.

Something slammed into the road directly in front of me and I didn't have enough time to stop—I tumbled down and landed hard on the pavement, my eyes streaming in pain from my skin's sudden contact with the gravel. I rolled over onto my back, searching for whatever had made the explosion—and cried out for the third time in five minutes as I saw clearly what had been chasing me.

The creature was huge and scaly, covered in what looked like black spikes that were oozing some sort of green pus. It had at least five legs, each with a claw that had to be at least ten inches long boring into the ground. Atop its main body were four scarlet eyes—the slit-pupiled eyes I had seen staring down at me from the window. All four of those eyes were turned on me now, and even as I screamed, a shrieking sound assaulted my ears, drowning out my cry and sending waves of pain shooting through my ear canal.

It raised one long leg and started to bring it down, ready to spear me on the spot, but with a rapidity I didn't even know I possessed I rolled sideways, falling into the ditch next to the road just as its claw smashed into the gravel where I had been lying, cracking the pavement in two with an ear-splitting crash.

I scrambled to my feet and began to run away again, ignoring the blood trickling down my arms and legs. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I dimly registered that there was no way I could outrun that thing, but my human survival instinct— _fight or flight—_ had kicked in, and I knew I couldn't just stand in one spot and give up. I had to do _something._

The creature's agonizing cry sounded again, and through the wind rushing in my ears I could hear it thumping along after me, each blow of its legs sending a tremor through the earth. It was gaining on me with every step it took, and I had the horrible feeling that it was purposely not moving as fast as it could.

I changed direction abruptly, swerving to the right when I spotted an outcropping of rocks in the distance. If all else failed, I could hide behind one and see if I could use any of the smaller stones as weapons. Maybe if I hit the creature in all four of its eyes, it would become confused and I could manage to run…

A bright blue light burst out in front of me, and I skid to a stop, narrowly missing the sudden shimmering rectangle that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. It looked around six feet tall, and if I hadn't known better I would have guessed it was a doorway. Ethereal blue light glowed and danced inside, and I felt myself drawn to it, as if I was _meant_ to go through.

The horrible screeching of the creature behind me had stopped, and I twisted around to see that it appeared to have become preoccupied with something else, its legs waving and twisting as it lunged at some unknown object. For a moment, I hesitated—was it after someone else?

But my head snapped around as I had a dim voice shriek out from somewhere in the distance: _"Run! Abby, run!"_ It sounded familiar— _so_ familiar, as if I had heard it a thousand times before, but it definitely wasn't my mother's voice, and it couldn't be any of my friends—

But the creature appeared to have heard it too, and it stopped attacking whatever hapless prey it had stumbled upon, and turned back around to face me. This time it didn't bother with running—it whirred into motion, streaking across the desert with a speed that could easily keep up with a sports car.

There was no way I would be able to reach the rocks, much less outrun it, and I would surely be killed if I stayed in the same spot for another second. I only had one chance, and it was completely against anything I would normally have done: as if someone else was inhabiting my mind, as if I didn't have control over my own body, I leapt forward and dove into the flickering blue doorway, feeling my body being sucked and twisted into an enormous, swirling vortex as the world fell away from around me.


	2. Two

**I** opened my mouth to scream as I hurtled downwards through the blue light, indistinct shapes flying around me, but no sound came out and I couldn't even close my eyes. A wave of nauseating dizziness washed over me as the spinning became faster and the shapes whizzed by at impossible speeds—

And then everything stopped as abruptly as if someone had turned off a switch, and I was thrown into darkness, landing hard on solid ground again.

I wasn't sure how I long I lay still, my face pressed into what felt like brick and trying to sort through what had happened. In the past ten minutes, I'd been chased and nearly killed by some sort of monster before jumping into a blue doorway that may or may not have symbolized my death.

So the question remained: was I dead, or had the past day merely been a vivid nightmare and I would open my eyes to my own bed with no danger but school looming in front of me?

The latter was a tempting option, to be sure, but I was certain that my imagination wasn't nearly so creative as to make up that monster, and besides, my bed wasn't nearly this uncomfortable.

I took a deep, shuddering breath—and then immediately started coughing as I inhaled a mouthful of something dusty and stifling, like I'd breathed in dirt. Every spasm sent another shock of pain through my ribs, and I forced myself to stumble to my feet, having to lean on the wall for support.

The _wall?_

Feeling panic rising up in my throat again, I mutely took in my new surroundings, concentrating on taking deep breaths so I wouldn't faint or throw up, which both seemed like viable options at the moment.

I was standing in a cramped, narrow alleyway that stank of garbage and something deeper, as if the very air itself was tainted. Distant shouts and clangs echoed all around me, and the sky was covered by a tangle of dark clouds, a dim patch of moonlight managing to shine through a gap in the fog.

This was surreal. I _had_ to be dreaming. As strange as I knew the Shadow World was, I was sure there wasn't any portal that could transport me somewhere else entirely—

" _Portal,_ " I groaned, and my head lolled back against the brick wall as I remembered that there _was_ , in fact, a very object of the sort that could instantaneously transport someone anywhere in the world, although, from what Andrew Lightwood had told me all those years ago, it wasn't used very often since their design still had yet to be perfected and they could end up taking you to the opposite side of the globe than you intended.

So, a Portal must have magically materialized in front of me and I'd stupidly jumped through it, and now I could be absolutely anywhere in the world with no money and no way to get home. Did they appear when someone was in danger? Andrew Lightwood had never mentioned _that_ part…but, at any rate, I knew I would be dead if it wasn't for the Portal.

The creature that had been chasing me, I guessed, had been a demon. But although I had occasionally seen flashes of them out of the corner of my eye my entire life, or noticed that a human was behaving slightly stranger than normal, nothing had ever been _that_ corporeal; much less chased after me.

Could the demon have been what Mom was running from? Had it gotten _her?_ And if she had been trying to escape, why hadn't she taken me along with her? Was it too late to save her?

Propelled by the thought that the demon had tracked her down as well, I began to move forward, noticing with dismay that my shoes were covered in blood and a trail of red footprints would lead anyone to where I found a place to hide. The logical thing to do would be removing my shoes, but there was no way I could get very far in socks and if I had to run again, I wouldn't have time to look where I was going.

Scuffing the bottom of my shoes against the ground to scrape off the worst of the blood, I gave myself a quick onceover. Miraculously, I hadn't broken anything, and I seemed to be none the worse for wear except for a bad cut slashed across my right cheek and scrapes on my elbows, hands and knees. The blood caked on my clothes gave me the appearance of being more injured than I actually was, which would hopefully be able to fool any enemy who would underestimate me.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I was surprised at myself: that had never been my thinking process, and I was notoriously terrible at thinking on my feet. But the events of the past hour had somehow kickstarted my brain into overdrive, as if a part of it had suddenly been activated that had been dormant before. Although I was still exhausted and would probably collapse once the adrenaline rush had worn off, I was able to think surprisingly clearly.

When I reached the end of the alleyway, I cautiously peeked around the side of the wall, unsure what I would see. Judging by the stench that rose up all around me and the constant noise, I was in a city, although it could have been anywhere from New York to Sydney. But the sight I was met with didn't look like _any_ city I'd ever imagined.

Gaslamps lined the streets, their light burning low and casting eerie shadows over the cobblestone road. The buildings all looked precarious and I could see clothing hanging out of most of the windows, swaying slightly in the light breeze. The wind brought with it an even stronger reek, and I tried to keep my breathing as shallow as possible so as not to inhale any more air than I absolutely had to.

A strange clopping sound could be heard from around the corner, and I quickly drew back into the shadows of the alley to see a horse-drawn carriage rumble past, its driver dressed in a black suit and top hat like actors I'd seen in old movies. There was an odd symbol, like two snakes eating their own tails, carved onto the side of it, with the words _The Pandemonium Club_ written in spiraling gold letters under the snake symbol. Was I in the poor part of town and the carriage was just tourists using an old-fashioned method of transportation? There were carriage rides in Golden Gate Park, although certainly not at night and in a neighborhood like this.

Had the Portal transported me to some sort of—parallel universe or something? I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat. Andrew Lightwood had never mentioned anything like _that,_ although if I was on a different planet entirely, it would just have been polite for him to let me know in case I ever found myself in a situation like this.

At least there were no demons chasing me. I glanced automatically behind myself, my muscles relaxing when I ascertained that there was no danger. I hoped it would stay that way.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I started forward, down the cobblestone road in the direction where the horse and carriage had disappeared. Maybe I would be able to pretend I was simply lost and find someone who would know where I was.

The street was narrow and twisted in random directions, obscured by fog and smoke that seemed to hang heavily on the air. Gas lamps lit the way, and the buildings I passed were all shut tightly against the outside world. I could hear a distant rushing sound in my ears and there was a moist taste in my mouth: there must be a river nearby.

God, everything was so dreamlike. The mist covering my vision seemed to warp and twist everything so that I wasn't sure whether the buildings on either side of me were even real or not. No matter how much I blinked, my vision wouldn't clear. How could the carriage driver have even seen where he was going?

My gaze shifted across to the left, where I could see the railing of a ledge looming out of the fog, and two figures began to come into view, materializing out of the mist. I couldn't see them very clearly—aside from being shrouded in fog, their edges appeared to warp and glimmer, and when I looked directly at them they seemed to disappear—but I could tell they were both male, and I sensed that they were looking at me.

Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I ducked my head and pretended I hadn't noticed them, quickening my pace, but it was too late. "Excuse me!" a deep voice called after me. "Who are you?" It sounded polished and slightly arrogant, with a British accent, but I didn't have time to dwell on the particulars just then. I refused to look back at them and broke into a jog, despite my legs still aching from their near-brush with the demon. If I could find somewhere, anywhere, to hide—

"Come back!" the man continued, and I began to run faster, hearing their footsteps chasing after me. There was no way I could outrun two men, and I wasn't strong enough to fight them off…

Taking a sharp turn to the left, hoping to lose them, I hadn't gone more than ten feet when a blurred shape darted right in front of me. I slammed right into them, but they didn't so much as stagger backwards. A hand clamped over my mouth before I could scream, and I was yanked around, my head pressed against someone's shoulder. Just behind me stood the second figure, so close that I couldn't escape even if I'd managed to overcome one of them. I'd been cornered.

I tried to kick backwards, but my captor was holding me so tightly I could barely breathe. "If you make so much as one sound I will throw you into the Thames," that husky British voice said into my ear. "Do you understand?"

I nodded frantically, my eyes widening in terror. "Will, don't scare her," a second voice admonished. This one had a British accent as well, but his sounded slightly more refined, if not a bit exasperated.

"How do I know she'll listen otherwise?" the first one—Will—asked. Mercifully, I felt the hand being taken away from my mouth and I was free to breathe properly again. I sucked in greedy gasps of air, bending over and placing my hands on my knees. My arm was still twisted tightly in a death grip so I couldn't run away.

The moon suddenly broke through the clouds, and I was able to see my pursuers clearly. They weren't, as I'd first guessed, men—they looked to be around my age, hardly older than boys. The taller of the two, the one who had called out and grabbed me, was exceedingly handsome, with high cheekbones, fiery blue eyes, and a tangle of black hair. His eyes were narrowed at me, and he exuded confidence and superiority. The second boy had a calmer air about him, and he seemed less fazed by my appearance—perhaps that was because _his_ appearance was odd as well. He had silver hair, so light that if I'd seen him from a distance I would have guessed he was an old man, and matching silver eyes, their dark pupils wide in the night air. The curve of his eyes made me guess he was Asian, or had some sort of Asian background.

"What do you think she is, James?" Will was asking. "She can't be just a mundane with the Sight, since there's no way any mundane can run that fast; she smells too horrible to be a vampire, she's not hairy enough to be a werewolf, and if she was a warlock she would have used magic to get away from me already. But she can see through glamours, so she has to be Nephilim although she doesn't have any Marks."

"How about," the second boy, James, said with a long-suffering air, "You try _asking_ her?"

"Where's the fun in that?" But Will grudgingly continued, "What's your name?"

Thankfully, I couldn't see his face, and settled for staring at my feet as I mumbled, "Abby."

"Ah, an _American,"_ he drawled lazily. "No surname?" Even worse, I could hear something that sounded almost like amusement in his voice. He thought this was a game—he was making fun of me. Irrationally, I bit back tears and raised my face, unintentionally making eye contact with the silver-haired boy. He was staring curiously at me, but, unlike Will, there was no trace of hostility in his eyes. He looked kind, almost gentle, and it was him who made me answer the question fully.

"Cartwright," I said louder. "Abigail Cartwright."

" _Cartwright?"_ Will asked incredulously. "That's impossible, we know the Cartwrights—"

"Not all of them, apparently," James interrupted, and he grinned at me, a strand of silver hair falling into his eyes. I would have smiled back if I wasn't so terrified.

"So what are you?" Will demanded. He took a step away from me, and I saw the black mark of a rune scribbled across the back of his hand, and I felt myself relax, if only infinitesimally. They were obviously Shadowhunters. Maybe they could help me…

"I'm Nephilim," I answered, glancing down out of the corner of my eye at a river rushing next to the bank we were standing on. It looked deep enough to jump in, and although swimming had never been my strong point it could be a last resort if I had to escape. "My mother is a mundane and my father was a Shadowhunter. But I've chosen to live a mundane life, so I'm not _technically_ a Shadowhunter, but—" I knew I was babbling, but the words just kept tumbling out of my mouth.

Will suddenly shoved me away from him so that I was standing facing both of them, the river to my back. His eyes raked over my form, but not in a lecherous way—he was staring at my clothes with an incredulous glare, as if he had suddenly realized what they were. "What in the Angel's name are you _wearing?_ "

"Um…" I stupidly glanced down at myself, as if my jeans and shirt had mysteriously vanished and been replaced with something else—although since everything _else_ had changed, I wouldn't have been all surprised if I had suddenly found myself wearing a floor-length ball gown. "Clothes?"

The silver-haired boy's lips twitched. "She's got a point, Will."

Will gave a dissatisfied _humph_ , and for the first time I worked up the courage to ask, "Where am I?"

"London," said James; the first time he had spoken directly to me. Now he looked slightly worried, as if he now knew that something wasn't quite right. "I'm Jem Carstairs and that's Will Herondale—"

"It can't be London," I interrupted; their names were not the first thing on my mind at the moment. I'd never left California in my life. "London doesn't look like—like _this!_ If anything, this looks like something out of an old movie—"

"Movie?" Will asked incredulously. He repeated the word slowly, as if he had never heard it before. "Are you mad?"

A horrible, terrible suspicion was beginning to dawn on me. "The Portal," I gasped. "I thought it could only travel through distances. What…" My voice was shaking. "What year is it?"

The boys exchanged a glance. "1878," Jem finally answered. He reached out a hand, as if trying to comfort me, but I shied away from him.

"It's impossible," I breathed, but it made so much sense…the horse and carriage, the look of the city, the boys' mannerisms and their reactions toward me…at first I thought I'd been transported to another universe, but I'd been transported to another _time_. In my opinion, that was even worse.

My last, desperate hope was that I was still dreaming. And if I was dreaming, there was only one way to find out. Opening my mouth as if I was going to say something, I twisted around and dove into the rushing water below.

I heard a dim shout from above me, but it was too late—I had already gone under. It was absolutely _freezing_ —all the breath I'd been saving was knocked out of me as I sank deeper, spots dancing in front of my eyes from the shock.

And then I felt something grab my leg and yank me down. I screamed soundlessly, thrashing and flailing as I tried to kick whatever had hold of me, but it was no use: through the murky, brown water that, had I been more lucid, I would have compared to the water at the motel, I could see a long tendril wrapped around my right leg, pulling me down further into the depths of the river, that, I realized, was far too deep for the Thames—

I began to black out then, my lungs screaming for air. The spots in front of my eyes had become all-consuming, and a horrible pain burst into my chest. My struggles became weaker, and through the haze of my oxygen-deprived brain I knew I was going to die.

I must have blacked out momentarily, since the next thing I was aware of was that the tendril was no longer squeezing my leg and I could feel myself being propelled back upward through the water, this time with a pair of arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

As soon as we broke the surface of the water I gasped for air, the spots rushing back with a dizzying force as I was hoisted back onto the bank, collapsing onto the mud. On my hands and knees, I coughed up what felt like half the Thames, not caring who was watching me. When the spasms had passed and I was able to breathe and see properly again, I looked up at the two boys who had rescued me. They were both soaking wet, and I felt a strange rush of gratitude at the fact that they'd jumped into the river. Jem was kneeling on the ground coughing loudly, and Will had a hand on his shoulder, saying something in a low voice to him. I caught the gleam of what I assumed was a seraph blade in Will's hand, covered with a thick green substance that I recognized as what had been dripping from the demon chasing me outside the motel.

Unsure what to do, I slowly staggered to my feet, knowing I couldn't try to run again. I was too weak, and the boys would be able to catch up with me immediately. I had no choice but to stay with them.

Several feet away, Jem stood up as well, waving away Will's offer of help, and for the first time I noticed he had a cane: the end was carved in the shape of a dragon's head, and he leaned heavily on it as he started towards me. He looked even paler than usual and the pupils of his eyes had grown even larger. I almost felt bad for making him look worse than he already did.

"Are you all right?" Jem asked me, as if _I_ shouldn't be the one asking _him_ if he was all right. "It was a Hydra Demon that almost got you—they'll often snatch up unwary people who fall into the river."

"Yes, I'm fine," I said thickly. "Thank you for…for saving me."

Will walked over then, wiping the blood off his blade and scowling at me. "I didn't completely kill it," he said. "You should have waited a moment longer to grab her, James."

"If I'd waited a moment longer she would have drowned," Jem said patiently. He began to blur out of focus again, and it took me a moment to realize I was shivering, the cold night air mixing with the water on my clothes.

"C—can someone p—please create a Portal that will g—get me back to 1978?" I asked, my voice whiny and pitiful. "I d—don't know how to do it myself…"

"Portal?" Jem asked at the same time Will said, "1978?"

A horrible thought struck me, and I stopped shivering in shock. What if the Portals weren't even _invented_ yet? Would I be stuck a century in the past forever?

"Miss Cartwright," Jem began, and I winced at the sound of my name, "Do you mean to say that in the future, there exist Portals that can transport a Shadowhunter to a different place and time?"

"It makes sense," Will snorted. "Look at her _clothes_." But he exchanged another meaningful look with Jem, and I was sure I saw something like anxiety pass through it. If _they_ were unsure of what to do, how should _I_ feel?

The world began to spin around me, and my breathing hitched as my heart pounded crazily. I could feel nausea rising up inside me again, and I turned my head to the side and retched, but nothing came out.

"She's going into shock," Jem muttered. I saw him limp over to me and he looped his arm around mine, holding me upright so I wouldn't fall over. Surprisingly, his arm felt almost fragile and breakable, as if he could fall to pieces at any moment. He must have an extraordinary amount of hidden strength if he was able to lift me out of the water.

"Bring her to the Institute," Will instructed, and my ears perked up. Surely the London Institute would have some idea of what to do with me. "I'll finish off the demon." When Jem hesitated, he said, "You're hardly in better shape than she is, James. I can take care of the Hydra myself." He cast me an angry glare as he said this, as if it was my fault that Jem had weakened.

After another moment, Jem nodded and unlatched his arm from around mine. "Can you walk on your own, Miss Cartwright?"

I nodded and took a hesitant step forward. "I—I think so."

Behind us, Will was already readying for another jump into the water: he'd pulled out another blade and was pacing up and down the length of the bank, as if trying to figure out the best way to enter. "Use her blood on the door to see if she really is Nephilim," he said carelessly as we began to walk away, turning around and barely giving me another glance. "She's already bleeding enough anyway."

Jem and I started back up to the road. I automatically turned when I heard a distant splash and saw that Will had disappeared. "He'll be fine," Jem reassured me, as if I cared about how he fared after he'd been so rude to me. "Hydra demons are nothing to be worried about if you're trained well enough."

"Oh," I said in a small voice, unsure how to respond. "So…you're taking me to the Institute, then?"

"It's the best place for you to be right now," he replied. "If any Downworlders heard of you, you would be dead right now. Despite the fact that we fight demons and warlocks can use magic, time-traveling has, surprisingly, not been invented yet."

I glanced sideways at him, shocked that I didn't hear any malice or annoyance in his voice. "You're not angry at me?"

Jem met my gaze, his wide silver eyes looking surprised. "Why would I be angry at you?"

"Well…I ruined your night and you were nearly killed trying to save me."

He laughed out loud, and for the first time since I'd been at home, I felt myself smile back. "We're Shadowhunters—killing demons is our job. We risk death every day. And we're obliged to aid our fellow Nephilim, no matter what place or, in your case, I suppose, time period they come from."

"And Will?" I thought of the exasperation in his voice, his angry glare whenever he looked at me.

"Will thrives on danger. I'm sure he's enjoying every second of it." Jem grinned wryly. "This is the most exciting thing that's happened to him in weeks."

We turned onto another street and I couldn't help but gaze over at London, at the landscape that was so different from the modern San Francisco I was used to, a city so ancient that I felt as if all the secrets of the world were hidden between every brick, tucked behind every building…I couldn't stop my eyes from widening as I spotted an enormous grand cathedral, which towered majestically over the rest of the buildings.

"That's St Paul's," Jem explained to me. "London is a fascinating city—provided you're in the right part of it, of course. Westminster Abbey is even grander, and so is Blackfriars Bridge…I can show them to you during the day if you'd like." He was talking matter-of-factly, as if a girl from a century into the future getting stuck in nineteenth-century London was something that happened all the time.

I couldn't help but look at him suspiciously. "Why aren't you asking me any questions about myself? Don't you want to know what the future is like?"

His smile didn't falter. "I'm sure I'll find out the answer later when you speak to Charlotte. I won't force you to tell me anything you don't want to."

Two questions were running through my mind: did he have some sort of ulterior motive? I'd only known him for twenty minutes and I'd never met anyone as kind as him. And if he didn't have some sort of ulterior motive, why weren't there any boys like him in _my_ time?

"I'm sorry that I can't use an _iratze_ to heal you," Jem said after a minute of silence. Noticing my frown, he nodded at my still-bleeding hand and said, "There's no telling how you would react to any Marks now since you haven't taken the vows."

"It's fine," I told him. "It doesn't really bother me anymore." Feeling like I had to say something or else the full weight of what had happened would overwhelm me, I asked, "So do you live at the Institute?"

Jem nodded. "Both Will and I do—we don't have any other family. There's another girl our age too—" But he was abruptly cut off by a fit of choking, flinging his arm up over his mouth and the coughs wracking his entire body. I stopped hesitantly, awkwardly standing there and not sure what to do. Should I go back and find Will?

But before I could make up my mind, Jem straightened up and smiled. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's nothing to worry about."

My eyes were wide. Before he had lowered his sleeve, I'd seen a glimpse of blood on the fabric that I was certain hadn't been there before. "Are you sure?" I asked, momentarily forgetting about the blood caking on my own clothes. "I mean…coughing up blood isn't such a good thing in 1978 either—"

"Miss Cartwright, please don't worry about it," he said, kindly but firmly. "I am fine."

I had a sudden vision of Jem collapsing to the ground and Will blaming me for it—he already blamed me for what had happened in the river. But instead of pressing the point, I said, "Call me Abby. Miss Cartwright sounds too formal. No one talks like that in—where I'm from."

"They don't?" Jem asked, sounding interested. "Well, Shadowhunters call each other by their given names, but I wasn't sure how you wanted to be addressed. Oh, there's the Institute now. It used to be the Church of All-Hallows-The-Less until it burned down in the Great Fire of London," he added. I followed his gaze to where I could see a grand old church on the corner of a busy street, where men in dark coats swarmed out of shops even at this hour. But the second I turned my gaze away from it, it disappeared and all I saw was an ordinary patch of land.

Jem must have seen the awe on my face, for he said, "You're not used to seeing through glamours yet, but with enough time and practice it will become second nature." I noticed we were coming up to a wrought-iron gate, and before my eyes it swung open, leading into a courtyard where I could more clearly see the architecture of the Institute. It was intricate yet not overly magnificent; I wondered if the one in Los Angeles looked similar.

"How did the gates—" I began, but trailed off when I saw a handsome man with a thick tangle of brown hair walking up toward us. Despite the lateness of the hour, his smile was every bit as charming as Jem's.

"Hello, Thomas," Jem told him as he loped up to us, staring at me curiously. "We have a new visitor, it seems."

"So I see," Thomas said, and inclined his head to me. "Good evening, miss—or should I say good morning."

I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you. I'm Abigail Cartwright."

"Cartwright?" he repeated, and his eyes slid over to Jem, who gave a tiny shrug.

"Shall we go inside?" Jem asked me, and we began to head up the stairs to the front door. He cast me a questioning glance, and I remembered what Will had said about using my blood on the door. Taking a deep breath, I swiped some blood off my hand and placed it on the handle. I didn't expect anything to happen, but to my surprise the door swung open.

Jem looked pleased. "It appears that you are indeed one of us," he said, and graciously held the door open to where I stepped inside a grand entryway. The walls were built of stone and torches burned high on the walls, reminding me of a medieval castle. It was disappointingly even colder in here than it had been outside.

"Charlotte? Henry?" Jem called as he led me through the entryway into another identical hallway, with what looked like an endless stretch of doors branching away from us. I was already lost just from standing in one place; it was much larger than it had looked from the outside.

One of the doors opened at Jem's call and a tiny woman stepped out. She had light brown hair pulled back into a high bun and although she appeared to be wearing a robe—didn't they call it a dressing-gown in England?—under a nightgown, her expression was wary and alert. I smiled hesitantly at her as Jem explained who I was and how they had come across me. Charlotte's hand went to her mouth when he came to the part about being from the future.

"I'm sorry to bother you—" I began, but she shook her head, recovering almost immediately.

"I'm Charlotte Branwell, the head of the Institute. Its very purpose is to assist Shadowhunters in need," she said. "You look exhausted; you don't have to explain anything until tomorrow. I'll get one of the Silent Brothers to have a look at you—" She beckoned me up a flight of stairs I hadn't previously noticed; they appeared so quickly I wondered if they hadn't, in fact, been there before. I went up three before I realized that Jem wasn't following me. Pausing, one hand on the railing, I looked quizzically at him, somewhat disappointed.

"You need to sleep," he told me, smiling. "I'd better go see how Will is faring."

"Oh, all right," I said. "Thank you for bringing me back here."

"It was no trouble at all," he assured me, but his smile had turned into a frown, as if he was planning on saying something else but thought better of it. I turned around and started up the stairs, expecting him to leave, but instead I heard a voice call "Abby!"

I questioningly turned back to him, sensing that Charlotte had paused and was waiting for me. "Why didn't you ask me why I was coughing?" he asked.

Remembering his words from earlier, I said, "I won't force you to tell me."

The biggest grin of all appeared on his face, and, again, I couldn't help but smile to myself as I followed Charlotte upstairs and around the corner until he disappeared from my view.


	3. Three

**T** he next five minutes seemed to pass in a confusing blur; I was only dimly aware of Charlotte leading me into a room with a large four-poster bed and another woman kneeling in the corner lighting a fireplace. _Since when do they have fireplaces in bedrooms?_ I thought, my mind a hazy blank. Charlotte asked me something, but I barely registered what it was: the moment my head touched the pillow, I was gone, drifting into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

When I next became aware of the world, I felt as if I was floating underwater: experiencing everything from afar instead of being an active participant. Unfortunately, there was no blissful forgetfulness where I couldn't remember what had happened to me—my memories were all fully intact…the two demons that had nearly killed me, jumping into the Thames hoping that everything had been a dream and that I would wake up, Will and Jem, the Institute, Charlotte leading me upstairs into a bedroom…

"Miss Cartwright?" a voice asked, and my eyes opened. I was staring up at Charlotte herself. She had a small, encouraging smile on her face, but she looked worried and slightly nervous, as if she had been pondering a particularly vexing problem for hours. I supposed, with my sudden appearance, she probably had.

"You've slept for nearly twelve hours. How are you feeling?" she asked, and for the first time I noticed that I was no longer in my jeans and sweater, but wearing a long silver dress with ruffles at the collar and hem. My hair was shiny and felt freshly washed, wrapped up in a tight bun with tendrils dangling over my face. I felt ridiculous and the dress was scratchy and uncomfortable, as if I was in an old-fashioned play. Nevertheless, my strange attire was the least of my worries at the moment.

"Sore," I admitted, wincing as I became aware of a slow burn in my legs. I was certain I'd run more in the past day than I had in my whole life combined. Wanting to see the room they'd put me in, I slowly propped myself up on my elbows and sat up.

The bed was enormous, big enough for at least three people to lie in comfortably. A canopy hung down from the ceiling, obscuring the area immediately next to the bed. Directly across the room, a fire roared in the grate, adding a merry feeling to an otherwise gloomy atmosphere. There was a table sitting in front of the fire with two chairs tucked under it, and a more comfortable-looking armchair was pushed against the wall. A screen stood in the other corner, and I could see the outline of what looked like a bathtub behind it.

After I'd taken inventory of the room, I turned my attention to Charlotte, who was hovering over my bed, a concerned look on her face. I tried to muster a smile to prove that I was all right…physically, at least. Mentally, my mind was still in turmoil.

My hand automatically reached for the purse slung around my neck, and I immediately began to panic when I realized it was no longer there. "My…my purse," I said to Charlotte, trying to sound as calm as I could. "Do you know where it is?"

She nodded, pointing across the room to the table, where a rush of relief soared through me. In my quick sweep of the room, I had failed to notice that it was hanging over the side of one of the chairs.

"Your journal was not too wet," said Charlotte. She stood up—moving swiftly for such a small woman—and retrieved the purse, bringing it back over to me. I took it gratefully, hugging it close to my chest. "The picture is slightly faded, but hardly the worse for wear."

Fighting the urge to ask her _You know what a picture is?_ I unzipped the purse and stared down at its contents. My house key and wallet—well, it didn't look like I'd be needing them anytime soon—were still there, along with the picture and my father's journal, as promised. But to my discomfort, the pages of the journal were folded slightly back, as if someone had been flipping through them.

There were a thousand questions swimming through my brain, but I stared up at Charlotte and blurted out: "You read it?"

"Yes," she said, not looking embarrassed in the least. "I apologize, Miss Cartwright, but it was necessary in case there was any useful information." She paused. "Your father sounds like a very pleasant man."

"I guess so _,"_ I mumbled, sighing and refusing to meet her eyes. For years, it had been my private journal. I had never showed it to any of my friends, and the idea of a stranger reading it seemed horribly intrusive, although I understood why she had to read it. "I never knew him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Charlotte said, and there was blunt honesty in her voice, not the fake pity that I usually got when I told someone that my father was dead. Or, in this case, that he wasn't born yet. It gave me an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. How could I still exist if my parents, my _grandparents_ , weren't even around?

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed Charlotte's next sentence. "I called in one of the Silent Brothers to examine you. Brother Enoch?" she called, and the door swung open to reveal a tall man in parchment-colored robes marked with strange tribal designs I recognized as runes. I felt slightly uneasy as I strained to see the face beneath the hood, and jumped backward with a startled yell of surprise when he actually did raise his arms to lower it.

His face was pale, scarred with runes. But that wasn't what made me gasp: it was his eyes; or rather, his _lack_ of them. They were empty sockets, staring unseeingly at me. His mouth was similarly stitched up, and it took all my strength not to leap out of bed and as far away from him as I could get.

 _Abigail Lucie Cartwright,_ an unfamiliar voice sounded inside my head. I started: I had not heard it aloud, and it was decidedly male, but it echoed around my mind as if someone had spoken it. I knew, vaguely, that the Silent Brothers were doctors and archivists of sorts, but Andrew Lightwood had never mentioned they could speak directly into your mind. Then again, I supposed there were a lot of things he had never told me.

"Y—yes?" I squeaked, glancing over at Charlotte for support. She seemed unfazed, so I assumed she had gotten used to the Brothers' peculiar way of communicating. I could almost hear Will snapping, "Well, they're called _Silent_ Brothers for a reason."

_You are physically healthy and unscathed despite your close encounters with the demons. I see that you were content living a mundane life, but it appears that is not in your destiny. I have found no clues in your mind to how the Portal, as you call it, might have appeared when you were being pursued by a Greater Demon. Such a thing has never happened in my memory, although I will have to consult the other Brothers and look through the archives in the Silent City. At any rate, it appears that you have no way of getting back to your time, at least for the moment. This is very strange, the likes of which have never been seen before._

"But…" I swallowed. "Is there a possibility that I might be able to get back to my own time?"

There was a long pause before Brother Enoch answered. _There might be. But this has opened up an entirely new set of problems. Your appearance may mean that there are others who have experienced something similar._

Charlotte gave a little gasp. "So she might not be the only time-traveller?"

_There is no certainty. If there were others, there is no guarantee that they would be sent to this time._

"Should I tell the Clave of this, then?"

_I believe that should be up to Abigail to decide. I will not tell them this, as with their current disposition it may divide them even more than they already are at present. This is a private matter; but, again, the combined intelligence of the Clave may result in useful discoveries. Additionally, if Abigail wishes to become a Shadowhunter, she may take the Vows. It cannot hurt to have one more young Shadowhunter being trained, as there are so few of them already._

Charlotte nodded once; she looked very diminutive next to Brother Enoch's tall frame. Her petite figure and quiet strength reminded me of my own mother—but somehow, I doubted that Charlotte would be one to run off with her daughter just because she thought something was chasing her. "Thank you, Brother."

Enoch inclined his head once to both of us, and then disappeared out of the room, making no sound in passing. My gaze immediately went to Charlotte, imploring and pleading. "Can the Silent Brothers read minds?" I asked. "Is that how he knew so much about me?"

"Of a sort," she agreed, folding her hands in her lap. "I would not exactly use the mundane definition of a mind-reader, however, for it is much more complicated than that. At any rate, if the Silent Brothers themselves do not know how you came to be here or how to send you back…and I thought we were burdened with enough problems as it was." But she immediately backtracked when she saw my face. "I did not mean it like that," she corrected. "I apologize; I simply meant that an already complicated situation is going to become even more complicated."

"So what do you want me to do now?" I asked slowly. "Surely the Silent Brothers won't come up with a solution right away—" There was a knock at the door and it opened to reveal a dark-haired woman wearing a simple black dress and carrying a tray of food. I vaguely recognized her as the one who had been tending the fireplace last night.

"Oh, thank you, Sophie," Charlotte said as the woman placed the tray on the table next to the fire. "I had dinner ordered up here in case you did not feel like eating with the others. Are you hungry, Miss Cartwright?" she asked me.

Sophie lifted the lid on one of the trays and I saw a platter of what looked like chicken and peas neatly arranged on a plate, with a glass of fizzing liquid next to it. My stomach growled, and despite my fear I nodded eagerly, pushing myself up off the bed and tottering unsteadily across the room. The dress was too tight around the waist and I had to struggle to breathe; I had to gather the skirts up with my hand in order to avoid tripping. I thought longingly of my ruined jeans and sweater—I'd never fully appreciated modern clothes until now.

"Sophie is our maid," Charlotte explained. "She is a mundane, but has the gift of the Sight. I wouldn't be able to run the Institute without her."

I smiled hesitantly at Sophie, who smiled back after a moment. As she bent down to tend to the fire, I caught sight of a horrible, grotesque scar stretching the entire left side of her face. I was grateful that she wasn't looking at me, for my eyes had widened in shock, but I was sure she heard my quick intake of breath as she stood up and turned away without meeting my eyes again.

"If you do not mind, Miss Cartwright—" Charlotte began.

"Call me Abby, please," I asked as I sat down in the chair and took a sip of the sparkling liquid in the glass. It had a strong taste to it, and burned as it slid down my throat. I was being served _wine?_ But, then again, the drinking age for Shadowhunters was sixteen.

"Abby," Charlotte repeated. She sat down in the chair on the other side of the table, watching me as I ate. "I would be very grateful if you were to tell us everything you know about your situation and how you came to be here. You can choose to tell me in private, or you can come downstairs later and explain to everyone."

I pretended to bite into a roll while I considered. It would certainly be easier to explain in private, where I didn't have at least four pairs of eyes judging me…but, as Brother Enoch had said, the more people who knew about my situation, the more people who could help me. Besides, I was struck by a desire to see Will and Jem again so I could properly thank them for rescuing me and apologize for jumping into the river. It had been an extraordinarily stupid idea, I knew now, but at the time it had seemed like the only logical thing to do.

Glancing up and realizing Charlotte was still waiting for an answer, I said, "I'll explain to everyone. It's not as if they wouldn't eventually find out."

She looked relieved; I could tell she'd had the same train of thought I had. "Very well. I will go gather the others. Sophie, could you show Abby the dining hall when she is finished eating?"

"Of course, Mrs Branwell," Sophie said, and after another quick smile at me Charlotte left, closing the door behind her.

There was a rather awkward silence in which I ate and tried not to stare at Sophie's scar, which seemed even more conspicuous to me now that I was trying to pretend I didn't notice it. She busied herself around the room, straightening out the bed and throwing more kindling into the fire. I had no idea how to act around servants, and wasn't sure if I was supposed to ignore her or order her around. Did they even have the same etiquette as mundanes? Feeling horribly uncomfortable, I tried, "Charlotte seems as if she is doing a good job of running the Institute."

"She does," Sophie agreed, but added, "You should try convincing the Consul of that."

"The Consul?" I repeated. "Isn't that the head of the Clave?"

Sophie nodded. "His name is Josiah Wayland. He answers to Mrs Branwell."

"If he doesn't like her, why did he appoint her in the first place?" I asked, but Sophie, seeming to sense that she had revealed too much, glanced over at my empty plate and glass and hurried to gather them up.

"Are you ready to meet the others?" she asked, glancing at my dress to make sure I hadn't ripped or torn it. "The dress is slightly small for you, but I suppose there is nothing I can do about it."

"Whose is it?" I asked. It looked far too large for Charlotte, and Sophie had said that it was too small for me.

"There is another girl here, Miss Jessamine, who does not wear most of her dresses. She will not even notice this one is missing," Sophie proclaimed, and I remembered that Jem had mentioned there was another girl our age living at the Institute.

"She must have a lot of dresses, then," I laughed nervously, trying to quell my fear.

"Yes." Sophie's tone was clipped and short as she opened the door, stepping aside so I could pass through it first. I felt ridiculous in the dress—it was even tighter at the waist than I had originally thought and billowed out at the bottom, brushing the floor and hiding my feet from view. There were so many laces and ties on it that I despaired about trying to get undressed at night. My hair was pulled back so tightly that my scalp was already sore, and the way that both Sophie and Charlotte walked—very graceful and poised—was completely lost on me.

But Sophie was patient and slowed down to my pace as we navigated down the set of stairs I remembered from the night before and through a magnificent hallway with the same repeating pattern over and over printed on the tapestries: an angel rising out of a lake, holding a cup in one hand and a sword in the other. It wasn't at all familiar to me, and I was about to ask Sophie what it meant when she stopped in front of a pair of grand oak doors, beyond which I could hear low chatter and the clattering of cutlery.

"The dining hall, miss," she said to me, and began to retreat. I turned back after her, confused.

"Aren't you going to stay and listen to my story?" I knew I was whining, but I didn't want to have to enter the room alone.

Sophie shook her head. "There are things to be done, miss."

"But I would have thought…I would have thought that everyone wants to know what the future is like." _That's what it's like in movies,_ I silently thought, but, of course, this was real life and I couldn't compare Shadowhunters and mundanes.

"What is the point of knowing about the future if you are not going to be around to experience it?" Sophie asked. I considered that; I'd never thought of that point before. Would I want to know what 2078 would be like if I had the chance? I supposed it wouldn't really matter to me.

Feeling very self-conscious, I turned back around and hesitantly pushed open the door to the dining-hall. I wasn't sure how many people lived in the Institute—although it looked as if it could have housed hundreds of Shadowhunters comfortably. I expected a crowd—but stopped short when I realized there were only five people in the room, seated at a long table that was evidently built for much more.

A large gasolier hung in the centre of the room, illuminating the white tablecloth. A mirror was built into the side of the wall, running the entire length of the room. It was open, airy, and for the first time I didn't feel as if I was in a medieval castle.

"Abby!" Charlotte greeted me first, and I smiled shyly, unable to look anyone in the eye. "Please take a seat."

Concentrating on not tripping over the hem of my dress, I walked over to the table and sat in the closest seat to the door, which was, I realized too late, facing the line of five people with no one on my side, so it was as if I was being interrogated. But it was too late now to change my seat, so I settled for studying their expressions.

Charlotte was seated at the head of the table, smiling at me gently but with a hint of steel in her eyes, as if she couldn't wait to hear the full explanation. Next to her was a ginger-haired man I'd never seen before, with a rather unfortunate clothing choice of orange polka dots and green stripes. He was blinking at me rather confusedly, as if I'd suddenly appeared out of thin air. Jem and Will were next, seated beside each other. Will was balancing on the bottom two legs of his chair, his dark hair falling into his eyes and looking infuriatingly handsome. His expression held the usual disdain I had already gotten used to, but there was a curiosity deep in his eyes. Jem, on the other hand, was leaning forward and staring kindly at me, his eyes wide and open. My dress was, I realized, the exact color of his hair and eyes.

And two seats away from Will, looking as if she would rather be anywhere than where she currently was, was a stunningly beautiful girl, her features somewhat marred by the scowl on her face. Like me, she had brown eyes and blonde hair, but she was absolutely gorgeous, one of the prettiest girls I'd seen. She wore an extravagant purple dress that looked ten times more expensive than mine. This must be Jessamine, I figured.

My suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Charlotte said, "Abby, this is my husband, Henry—" she indicated the ginger-haired man, who jumped slightly at the sound of his name, "—You've already met Will and Jem, and this is Jessamine Lovelace."

"Hello," I said awkwardly to the table at large. "So there are only five of you, then?"

"Eight," Jem said before Charlotte could answer. "There are also Sophie, Thomas, and the cook Agatha. I suppose we could call you the ninth resident." He smiled at me, and my own smile turned genuine. I'd never met anyone who smiled so much and so sincerely. Most people's smiles were vacuous with nothing to them. Jem's smile was honest and made me feel as if he could see straight through to my soul but accepted me anyway. This was in stark contrast to Will's vacuous smirk, which never reached his eyes.

"You're the girl from the future!" Henry said suddenly, pointing at me.

Charlotte's exasperation with her husband was apparent even to me. "Yes, Henry," she said patiently. "Abby is going to explain to us about herself." She glanced back at me as if expecting me to begin.

Taking my cue, I took a deep breath before beginning to speak, but just as I got the first word out Jessamine spoke up, her voice haughty and even more unfriendly than Will's. "She can't be telling the truth. Time-travel is impossible. She probably ran away from home and is too cowardly to admit it."

"No—" I began, but I was already flailing. What if the others believed her and would dismiss me as a liar?

To my surprise, Will spoke up. "We found her covered in blood and wearing the strangest clothes I had ever seen, Jessie," he said. "That would be a very elaborate lie."

I shot him a grateful glance, but he didn't look at me. Jessamine let out a displeased noise and stuck her chin out condescendingly. Hating my tendency to display my emotions on my face, I looked back at Charlotte, sure that my dismay was evident. She had shot Jessamine a hard look, but at my silent plea she turned back to me. "Go ahead," she encouraged. Henry was watching me eagerly, like a dog waiting for its master to speak, and Jem still had that patient, kind smile on his face. At least I knew the three of them didn't hate me—or at least, they were doing a very good job of hiding it.

So I began to speak, to the three of them more than I was to Will and Jessamine. I told them about my father, how he had left the Clave to marry a mundane and snuck back to the Los Angeles Institute when his family was in trouble and killed fighting a demon. I told them about my upbringing in San Francisco, and how Andrew Lightwood had arrived at my house when I was twelve to explain to me about the Shadow World. (" _Lightwood?"_ Will exclaimed in disappointment. "I was hoping they wouldn't reproduce.") I told them that I had just wanted to live a normal life, and how my mother had often proclaimed that we were in danger and we would have to hide for several days at a time, although she would never explain why. And I told them about how she had wanted us to go to the Los Angeles Institute to see my grandmother.

"Did you say that your grandmother is the head of the Los Angeles Institute?" Charlotte asked at this point. "And she lives completely alone?"

I nodded.

"Well," she muttered to herself, looking pleased, "At least they'll come to their senses eventually."

I told them about how my mother had disappeared and how I'd seen the dark shape moving past the cars. (At this point Henry had enquired what a car was, and I'd tried my best to explain to him until Charlotte had reminded him that that wasn't the purpose of my story). Then I told them about the demon that had chased me through the desert until the mysterious Portal had appeared in front of me and I'd jumped through it and landed in the alleyway. It was only after I'd said the last sentence that I remembered I hadn't mentioned the voice yelling at me to run.

There was a ringing silence the second I'd finished. Henry was the first one to speak. "What exactly did this Portal look like?" he asked, his bright green eyes eager from under his mane of shaggy red hair.

"Um, well, it looked like a doorway that was about six feet tall," I said eloquently, mentally cursing myself and wishing I had a better way with words. "And inside was this shimmering sort of blue light. I couldn't see anything past it…but I felt so strange, like it wasn't even me who would choose to jump through it. I'm not the kind of person who likes to take risks," I said lamely.

"So are you certain that this Andrew Lightwood didn't tell you that these, as you call them, Portals, could bring you to different times?" Charlotte asked.

"I don't know about a time," I said again, "But I know that they do transport you to different places. He never told me anything about times, but I'm sure he would have—"

"So we'll go with the assumption that it is a strange anomaly," Charlotte said. She glanced around the assembled group. "Now we have to make a decision. If we speak to the members of the Clave about this, they may be able to help us. But if word gets out that Abby is a time-traveller…" She trailed off, looking at me thoughtfully.

"Perhaps we can see if Henry is able to figure something out," Jem suggested. "If he can't, then we'll tell the Clave."

"That's a terrible idea," Jessamine said snidely.

"Why?" I asked. "If he does manage to send me back to my own time without the Clave knowing about it, it will save a lot of uproar."

"I daresay Henry won't be able to invent anything unless you want to end up cut in half between both times," Will said cuttingly. Henry looked hurt.

"I think that sounds like a fair idea," Charlotte interrupted. "For the time being, Abby can stay here."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I mean, I've caused enough trouble already…"

"Perhaps we should inform Consul Wayland and he can escort her back to California," suggested Will. "With any luck, he will stop for shade under a palm tree and a coconut will fall onto his head. I am certain that it will not diminish his already woefully limited intelligence."

"She is staying here and that is final," Charlotte said firmly. "Now how are we going to introduce her to the Clave? She can't stay a Cartwright…"

"Maybe she can," Jem said, appraising me. "There are enough of them, anyway, and it's unlikely that they'll ask too many questions. She does certainly look like one of them."

"I know," Charlotte agreed, biting her lip in thought. "It's just that the Cartwrights are…" She hesitated, apparently searching for the right word.

"Lunatics?" Will suggested. Jem frowned at him and Jessamine snorted, the first expression of amusement I'd seen her give.

"Unique," corrected Charlotte. "But I'm sure she would fit in fine as a distant cousin or something of the sort—"

"She could be Jessamine's sister," Will suggested. "Although much less attractive, of course, but I suppose there's always one in the family—"

"William, that's enough." Charlotte's voice was quiet but firm. I felt as if a lead weight had dropped into my stomach.

"No, it's fine," I mumbled, feeling color flood my cheeks. My eyes burned, but I refused to look up. "I've been called worse." No matter what Will said, he couldn't possibly be worse than the boys at school who had jeered and laughed at me talking to my father's grave and had thrown rocks at it after I'd left.

"I would imagine so," muttered Will under his breath, but it was enough. I couldn't stop the tears that gathered at my eyes, and I swatted them away. It wasn't just his comments that were hurtful, but the stress of the entire situation. I didn't belong here. I was foreign in so many ways. I knew that I was so far removed from everyone else. It felt as if there was a layer of glass between me and everyone else, preventing me from getting too close.

"Leave," Charlotte said, very quietly. I glanced up, startled, thinking she was talking to me, but she was looking at Will.

He made to stand up, but Jem placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him very quietly. To my shock, he met my eyes for the first time and twisted his face into what was almost an apologetic smile. "I am very sorry, Miss Cartwright," he said formally, with a tone to his voice that would have almost been believable.

Jessamine laughed again. "You're not fooling anyone, Will."

But years of bullying had taught me that sometimes it was best to do what they least expected, so I turned to Charlotte and said, "It's all right, Mrs Branwell. He can stay. I shouldn't let words get to me."

She looked just as surprised, but nodded. The atmosphere at the table had tensed, and I noticed nobody had touched their food since I'd begun my story.

"All right," Charlotte said after a long silence that had grown increasingly more uncomfortable with each second that passed. "You may remain a Cartwright. Your parents raised you in America and when they died in a demon attack you were sent here, to the London Institute. That should be acceptable enough for the Clave."

"What about her Marks?" Jem asked. "She is Nephilim, but not a Shadowhunter."

"That is the second problem," replied Charlotte. "If she is to stay here, the Clave will require that she take the vows and become a full Shadowhunter."

Everyone's gazes turned to me, and I swallowed hard. Become a Shadowhunter? The life had never appealed to me. My mother would have never wanted this for me…but on the other hand, my father had been a Shadowhunter. It was part of my heritage. And I remembered the way I had felt the night before, as if I could handle anything and everything. "I'll become a Shadowhunter," I agreed after a moment of silence, with the sinking feeling that I was digging my own grave.

"Are you sure?" Charlotte asked. "It's no light decision…"

"Perhaps, but as you said, I have nowhere else to go. Besides, I know enough about this world to feel confident that it is something I might learn to deal with in time. If I have the proper training, I would be willing to learn." What I didn't voice aloud was the thought that when I got back to the future, I would immediately give it up, so it would only be a short-term occupation.

"Don't you think she's caused enough problems already?" Jessamine asked spitefully. "You're already on uncertain terms with the Clave, Charlotte, and now you propose that we outright lie to them. This girl is a nuisance who would be better off on the street."

"I agree," Will added, but his tone was laced with sarcasm. "We were living a life of happiness and peace before _she_ came along, throwing us all into uncertainty and fear. I fear that we will have to resort to mutiny and cannibalism next. Send her to the gallows, I say."

I blanched. Charlotte glared at Will. "We have a duty to assist any Nephilim who need aid. Now, I will send for the Clave tomorrow and Abby can take the vows if she still wishes. The question remains, however, as to who will train her. Will, Jem, both of you are experienced Shadowhunters who can teach Abby the basics—"

"She sounds like Henry's problem, not ours," Will interrupted, casting me a hard glance. "Neither Jem nor I have the time or interest to train another Shadowhunter who will probably turn out like Jessamine—"

"I'd be willing to help," Jem said mildly at the same time Jessamine snapped, "And _what_ exactly is wrong with turning out like me?"

"Will, that's enough," Charlotte said firmly, turning to me. I was surprised; he'd almost sounded like he was defending me before he had made another cutting remark. "I think we are finished here. Would you like to go back up to your room, Abby? You can have some time to yourself before tomorrow."

"Actually," I said quietly, "I wouldn't mind it if someone were to show me around the Institute. I don't want to get lost."

"Women are usually not so forward with their demands," said Jessamine, but everyone ignored her.

"I'll show her," Jem offered, jumping up and starting towards the door. I was more than grateful that he was the one who had agreed to be my guide, but at the same time I wondered what exactly I had gotten myself into.


	4. Four

**I** breathed a sigh of relief as soon as I was free from the gazes of the Shadowhunters in the dining hall; I'd felt like a bug under a microscope the entire time. I turned to Jem to tell him this, but closed my mouth when I realized he probably wouldn't understand what I meant. Had microscopes been invented yet? I had absolutely no idea.

Instead I blurted out, "They hate me."

Jem looked surprised. "No, they don't! They're just curious."

"But Will and Jessamine—"

"—Are like that to everyone." He smiled encouragingly at me, but it didn't make me feel any better. "They've acted worse, believe me."

I sighed. "Will's not horrible to _you_."

"Because I'm his _parabatai,_ " Jem told me. "It would make for a rather unhappy partnership if we didn't get along."

" _Parabatai?_ " I asked curiously, not recognizing the term.

Jem nodded. "Two Shadowhunters can choose to become partners if they wish, drawing on each other's strengths during battle. They are closer than brothers."

I was about to ask how exactly he and Will had become so close—they were complete opposites—when one of the tapestries on the wall caught my attention. It was the pattern I hadn't understood that I'd seen when I was with Sophie, the one with the angel rising out of the lake. "What does that mean?" I asked, pointing at it.

"The Angel Raziel and the Mortal Instruments," Jem told me. "He was the angel who gave Jonathan Shadowhunter his blood. All Shadowhunters are descended from him. There are three Instruments: the Mortal Mirror—the lake where Raziel is said to have ascended from is Lake Lyn in Idris. The Mortal Cup is used to turn mundanes into Shadowhunters, but most die if they drink from it. You needn't worry about that," he added, seeing my startled expression. "You are already Nephilim. And the last one is the Mortal Sword. It is used during trials to compel a Shadowhunter to tell the truth. You may have to take your vows while holding it," he mused. "I shall have to ask Charlotte about that."

"When you said that all Shadowhunters are descended from Raziel, does that mean all Shadowhunters are related?" I asked.

"To a certain degree, yes," Jem answered. "Most Shadowhunters are distantly related if you trace their ancestors back far enough. So, technically, you can marry your third or fourth cousin and never find out. The line would have died out ages ago if they did not occasionally marry mundanes. I don't understand why the Clave disapproves of it."

"I don't either," I said softly, thinking of my parents. Jem seemed to sense the direction my thoughts were taking, and put a hand lightly on my arm, steering me down a different hallway from the one I'd thought we were taking.

"Where are we going?" I asked, confused.

"You were about to go to the Sanctuary Room," he replied. "It is where those who cannot enter hallowed ground, such as Downworlders, come to the Institute when they wish to speak to the occupants or they are seeking shelter."

"Does that happen often?"

"Occasionally," Jem answered. "As you might imagine, many of the truces don't end very well."

He kept up a light conversation as he showed me through the Institute. After several minutes, I stopped trying to memorize where we were going and blindly followed him through the numerous rooms and doors, introducing me to Thomas again and to the jolly, friendly cook Agatha. It was a wonderful, blissful relief from the constant worrying that had been my companion since I'd gotten myself stuck into this entire mess, and I found myself just listening to him, taking in his words. His voice was gentle and soothing, and I realized that he calmed me. Jem had a steady, unhurried air about him, as if he knew the ways of the world and could predict exactly what people were about to do. When he showed me Charlotte and Henry's chambers, I remembered Sophie's hesitance when we'd been speaking in my bedroom and asked him, "Why did Charlotte ask me if my grandmother ran the Los Angeles Institute by herself?"

"Consul Wayland doesn't like Charlotte very much," Jem said, and his eyes narrowed, betraying a sign of annoyance for the first time that evening. "They don't think she can do a good job of running the Institute because she's a woman and very young."

"Well, how old is she?"

"I believe she just turned twenty-three," he replied.

I was shocked. "She seems at least thirty to me! How old was she when she married Henry?"

"Seventeen," Jem replied, laughing a little at my expression. "Mundanes often spend years courting before they marry. Shadowhunters do not have that luxury. The average time from meeting to wedding is around ten months," Jem explained. "They often marry quite young, as well. Late teens, early twenties…"

"Oh," I said. "My parents were eighteen when I was born, but I just thought they were a special case. I didn't know marrying that young in the Shadowhunter world was so common." I paused, unsure how to phrase the question that had just popped up in my mind. "Are _you_ married?"

Jem laughed aloud; it brought some color to his pale cheeks. "By the Angel, no! I may be seventeen, but I have not been introduced to many potential partners. Besides, it would not be advantageous to do so. I—" he suddenly cut himself off, and again I had the feeling he had said too much.

"Why not?" I pressed, but he didn't answer, quickly pointing out one of the paintings we had just passed. I let the subject drop, but I was still curious. Did it have something to do with his cough?

As time wore on, my feet began to ache even more. I was still sore from running the previous day, and it was made even more painful by my uncomfortable outfit. I stuck it out for as long as I could, not wanting to interrupt Jem, but after I twisted my ankle going up a flight of stairs I finally asked in desperation, "Is it all right if I sit down for a while?"

"Of course," he said graciously, not sounding deterred in the least. "The library is just up here." He ushered me through a set of double doors and into a beautiful old chamber filled with rows upon rows of bookshelves. Although I didn't really enjoy reading, I had to admit that the library was absolutely glorious. Jem led me to two armchairs in front of a fireplace and I gratefully sank down into one.

He sat down across from me, his cane resting on his lap, and looked expectantly at me, the light from the fire shimmering in his silver eyes. "Thank you," I told him fervently. "I'm not used to these clothes. Fashion is much more comfortable in 1978. Girls can actually wear pant—uh, trousers."

Jem grinned. "You'll have to tell that one to Jessie. I'm sure she won't believe you."

"I don't think she would believe a lot of things," I said, and then, without any intention to do so beforehand, I launched into an explanation of the time into which I had grown up. I told Jem all I knew about the mundane world—about airplanes, about the culture and how women were viewed, if not complete equals, definitely more equal than they were here. I told him about movies and my trips to Los Angeles, and the celebrities I'd seen, although of course he wouldn't know any of them. I knew I was babbling, and that no one in their right mind would actually want to _listen_ to what I was saying, but Jem looked captivated, as if he was drinking in my every word. I told him of the skyscrapers of New York and the cars that zipped by at incredible speeds, and of my trips to the Golden Gate Bridge where I would sit on the railings, heedless of the drop below, and stare out at the Pacific Ocean. I knew that many of my sentences were jumbled, but it was therapeutic to talk about—it lessened the ache in my heart, and made me feel that much less homesick. As long as I had these memories, I knew that I wouldn't feel as lost, that I would know that I belonged _somewhere_. As I spoke, I fiddled with the strap on my purse, expecting Jem to ask about it, but he stayed silent. His eyes were shining when I finally fell silent, my throat aching, and I had the strange feeling he had actually _enjoyed_ listening to me.

"That," he said, "was _fascinating._ "

"You really think so?" I asked, astonished. "I was just about to apologize for that…you must have been bored out of your mind."

" _Bored?"_ Jem repeated. "No—I was going to say that I don't think I've ever heard someone tell such an enjoyable story. The world will change so much…we really don't give mundanes enough credit."

"Yes," I said. "I just wish I knew more about your world so I could tell you what's going on…"

"It's your world too, now," Jem reminded me gently. I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but I could only stare at him, stricken. My mother's face flashed through my mind, and I felt a wave of sorrow. I knew that she would try to persuade me _not_ to become a Shadowhunter, but if she knew my situation…well, I had no other choice. I had nowhere else to go. Charlotte herself had said that the Clave wouldn't allow me to live at the Institute unless I fully became one of them.

Jem suddenly turned around in his seat, facing the wall of bookshelves. "You can come out now, Will," he called, and to my displeasure a tall, dark-haired figure appeared from one of the aisles, his arms crossed and looking annoyed. Had he listened to our entire conversation? There was nothing I had told Jem that I cared about Will knowing or not—I'd just met both of them—but still, the idea that he'd been silently eavesdropping was rather irritating.

"You know, for someone who knows so much about the mundane world, I should think you would know more about the Shadow World, future girl," he told me. "You seem to just know the basics. Your mother never told you _anything?_ No hints, nothing about the relationship between Nephilim and Downworlders?" When I shook my head, he glared at me, seeming even more dissatisfied. I was sick of his glares and sneers; I had to speak up.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that all the people in the world haven't had all the advantages that you've had," I said bravely. When Will gave me a strange look, I replied, "Oh, I suppose that reference is about fifty years too early for you. It's from a book called _The Great Gatsby_."

"And I don't suppose you've read it either?" he asked, scowling at me.

I hadn't, but I wasn't about to let _him_ know that. Jem, sensing the tension in the air, stood up and held out his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. "I'm just taking Abby on a tour of the Institute," he said. At his words I seemed to see Will's eyes soften as he turned to Jem.

"I don't envy you," he said. "I haven't walked through the entire thing since I first arrived here." Something in his tone made it clear he was surprised that Jem could do the same.

"So were you just eavesdropping?" Jem asked, amused.

"Of course not," Will said, looking affronted. "I was just getting a copy of the _Codex_ for the future girl." He reached onto the table and handed me a thick leather tome bound in dark velvet. "She'll need to study it before her Vows tomorrow. She'll never make a good Shadowhunter if she doesn't even know what the Mortal Instruments are."

Then he _had_ heard our entire conversation. I supposed Jem had known he was there the entire time.

"Maybe you will have to walk through it again," Jem replied. "You never know who might arrive at the Institute and request a guide. Would you care to join us?"

"I would love to," Will said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "But I'm afraid that I must be leaving soon. It's getting close to midnight, and I have brothels to frequent and clubs to haunt." He smirked at my expression. "What it is, future girl?" he asked. "Scared of me already?"

 _My name is Abby, not future girl,_ I thought, but of course I was too timid to say the words aloud. Instead I looked down, away from his gaze. Jem said something in a low voice to him that I couldn't hear and Will nodded before leaving the room.

Once he was gone, Jem turned back to me and I asked, nervously, "Does Will, uh, often frequent the library?"

"I have seen him skulking about many times," Jem replied as we left the library and started down yet another hallway. "But the library is large enough that the chances of running into him are quite small."

I hoped he would stay there; it was unlikely that I would be perusing the library again. I wasn't much of a reader—which was probably why I was horrible with words and couldn't think up an insult to save my life.

Jem continued on down the hallway while I followed him at a slower pace. We'd been walking for nearly an hour and I could sense he was beginning to tire; he was leaning more heavily on his cane and moving more slowly. I felt like telling him that he didn't need to show me everything, but he continued on doggedly, determined to show me as much as possible. Instead of going into each of the rooms, though, he merely opened the doors and told me what they were.

"And here is the music room," he was saying, opening one of the doors at the end of the hallway. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked even paler than before.

"Jem, you don't need to—music room?" I asked in sudden delight. I peered around him into a room with a number of musical instruments covered in white sheets, save for a grand piano standing in the corner, covered with dust. Unable to hide my glee, I made straight for the piano, sliding onto the bench and flipping open the music book propped on the stand.

"You play the piano?" Jem asked, right behind me, and I jumped. I'd been so focused that I hadn't heard him come up behind me.

"Yes," I said once my heart had slowed down. "We had a piano at home, and every time I was worried or angry I would turn those feelings into music." I paused before admitting sheepishly, "I would rather read music than books."

"Music has a language all its own," Jem agreed, and reached out a hand to press several of the keys, creating a pleasant, smooth rhythm. The piano was slightly out of tune, but I didn't mind. "I've played the violin since I was a child," he explained. "My father taught me."

"Is it something you would ever consider doing professionally?" I asked curiously. "If you weren't a Shadowhunter, that is."

Jem laughed, shaking his head. "I would never attempt it. I am not nearly as good enough as my father was, nor will I ever be."

"Practice makes perfect," I told him. "You just need time." But, again, something crossed his features before he quickly covered it up and was smiling serenely at me again. To alleviate my lack of a response and not wanting to ask questions, I turned back to the piano and began to play an idle tune, one I knew by heart. It had been one of the very first compositions I'd learned.

" _Für Elise_ ," Jem said when I finished. "Beethoven." I looked over at him, a grin spreading across my features.

"That was an easy one," I couldn't help but tease before playing a lesser-known piece by Chopin. Of course, Jem knew that one as well, and I continued on, his smile growing wider, until I cheated and played several compositions from the twentieth century. He seemed to know what I was doing, and my grin turned sly. "Sorry, that wasn't fair," I told him. I felt strange sitting so close to him; our legs were just touching even through the bulky material of my dress. I realized, for the first time, I wasn't thinking about my situation.

"Music must have changed so much," he said, his smile turning wistful. "You will have to teach me sometime."

"Of course I will," I promised him, and he slid off the piano bench.

"I often play the violin at night," he said. "It relaxes me." With something like shyness in his features, he added, "You're welcome to listen, if you'd like."

Delighted, I nodded, and followed him back to our bedrooms—his room was right across the hall from mine—and I stopped in the doorway of his room. It looked much the same as mine, with minimal furniture and decoration, aside from a white box on his bedside table next to a glass of water. I didn't press the topic, though, and sat down gingerly on his bed.

Jem, who had been gathering his violin from the case next to his bed, looked surprised when he saw me sitting down. Embarrassed, I immediately jumped up. "Is this not proper etiquette?" I asked him. "Will we cause a scandal?"

"No, of course not," he reassured me. "It's just…" he turned even redder and looked away.

"It's just what?"

"I've never had a girl in here before of her own accord," he admitted, speaking so fast it took me a moment to process the words.

Trying for levity, I asked, "Not even Jessamine? I would think she'd be jumping at the chance."

Jem shot me a lightly exasperated look—it reminded me of the look I'd seen him give Will—and raised the bow to the violin before beginning to play.

If I'd thought I was good at the piano, it was nothing compared to Jem's playing. I'd heard violins before, but nothing like _this_ —notes so beautiful and poignant that reminded me of home, melancholy yet uplifting at the same time. I thought of my mother's face, and Brother Enoch saying solemnly, _This is very strange, the likes of which have never been seen before._ I thought of the demon chasing me, and the notion that if I _was_ sent back home, I would be stuck in the same place at the motel and killed anyway. The music rooted me to the spot, sending its notes through to the very core of my being. When Jem finally stopped, lowering the bow and turning around to look at me expectantly, his face red with concentration, I felt as if something had been yanked from me, and it was only then I realized my face was wet.

"That was…" I trailed off, my voice sounding hoarse and croaky after the ethereal music. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

Jem quickly looked away from me. For a moment I thought he was embarrassed, and then I realized he had noticed me crying and didn't want me to know that he'd seen my tears. I took a deep breath, discreetly wiping them away, and said in a stronger voice, "It made me think of home. I'm sorry, you must think I'm overly senti—sentimental—"

He shook his head and put the violin back in its box, hovering near the window through which I could feel a cool breeze. "I think of home when I play that song too," he admitted, seeming to hesitate before saying, "I was born in Shanghai."

"You're Chinese, then," I mused, smiling. "That's not so far from San Francisco—well, it's closer than London, anyway."

"I'm half-Chinese," Jem corrected. The wind was blowing in, ruffling his silver hair, which was the same color as the moonlight. If I squinted, he could almost seem like a statue, glowing and otherworldly. Just like his music. "My mother was Chinese and my father was British."

"Was?" I asked, frowning.

"They were killed when I was eleven years old. Greater Demon attack," he explained, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "So I came to the London Institute."

I instantly regretted asking him. "Oh," I said in a small voice. "I'm…I'm sorry. I can't imagine how you must feel."

"Yes, you do," he said. "I think you're the only other person who does. You know what it's like to…to have someone missing."

I glanced up at him, startled. "I know," I said in a small voice. "I think…I think that's part of the reason why I want to become a Shadowhunter. To fight against the demons who killed my father and grandfather. They left my mother and grandmother widows."

"Abby—" he began, taking a step towards me, but was overcome by a fit of coughing.

Startled, I took a step toward him, trying to place a hand on his shoulder, but he was bent double, coughing up something that I was sure was blood. My stomach rolled.

"Jem!" I cried. "I'll go get Charlotte—"

He shook his head, more blood splattering onto the floor. "The silver box—" he gasped. "On the table—mix it with water—"

I leapt to my feet and rushed over to the box, lifting it open. There was a light spattering of what looked like white powder lining the inside, with a spoon in the water next to it. My hands shaking, I grabbed the spoon and scooped up a handful of the powder, mixing it into the water until it had turned a murky white before running back over to Jem, who was gasping loudly. He drank the glass in one and I knelt down beside him, debating whether to call Charlotte even though he had said not to. "Jem?" I asked hesitantly as he set the glass down on the floor, slumping against the side of the bed. His eyes were half-closed, his muscles limp.

Behind me, the door burst open and I leapt to my feet, crashing against the wall in my surprise. Will had strode into the room and was heading straight for Jem, with barely a look at me. He gently grabbed the other boy by the shoulders and lifted him onto the bed, setting him down gently. Jem began to thrash wildly about, calling out in a strange language I recognized vaguely as being Chinese. Will held him until he had calmed, and when he was lying still on the bed again he slowly straightened and turned over to me. "What happened?" he asked, and there was only urgency in his voice, no trace of malice. His blue eyes were wide, and for once there wasn't a smirk on his face.

"We were talking and then he suddenly started coughing blood...he told me to mix whatever that stuff is in the box into his water and give it to him," I babbled.

"And he drank it," Will said. Some of the worry left his voice. "Thank you, Abby," he said; it was the first honest thing I had heard him say and the first time he had said my real name.

"Is he going to be right?" I asked, and Will's expression clouded over again.

"Yes," he replied, but I had the feeling he wasn't telling the truth. We stared at each other for another second, and then something seemed to change inside him, and he was back to being his original self. "You cannot tell anyone of this, do you hear?" he demanded, the hard edge back in his tone.

"No, of course not," I stammered. "But Charlotte—"

"She does not need to hear this," Will spat. "Do you swear?"

I stared, wide-eyed, at him, nodding fervently. "I promise."

"Good." He strode to the room and stood at the door; I realized it was my invitation to leave. "You should go to sleep," he told me, although I was sure my well-being was the last thing he cared about.

Taking one last glance back at Jem, I mutely left the room, not looking at Will on my way out. I wanted to ask him what had happened to him, but something told me he wouldn't answer.

When I was safely back inside my bedroom, I shut the door behind me and flopped onto my bed. The fire was burning low in the grate, but I had no idea how to tend to it or how to fetch Sophie. My head was spinning—from the events of that evening, from Jem's sudden sickness, to Will's odd behavior, to the trials I had to face the next day…my stomach flopped nervously, and I had to clap my hand over my mouth or else I would be sick. The adrenaline rush that had powered me through the last twenty-four hours was beginning to wear off; I had to distract myself or I knew I would break. So I reached into the folds of my dress and pulled out the _Codex;_ if that wasn't distraction enough, what was?

I spent the next hours closely studying the book, learning about different the types of demons and runes and the history of Shadowhunters…Andrew Lightwood had told me the basics, but there was still so much I didn't know. It was a strange feeling to think that my parents had both known all of this, had studied this very book…I finally managed to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, dreaming of formless demons and my mother's voice and violin music that still haunted me, even after it had faded into silence.

* * *

Weak sunlight woke me up the next morning; I groaned and threw my hand over my eyes. Sophie had pulled open the blinds and was striding around the room holding a red dress over her arms.

"Good morning, miss," she greeted me. I was still in my silver dress from the previous night, sprawled out across the bed without even having crawled under the covers. The _Codex_ still lay by my head, opened to the page describing the different types of love. "Mrs Branwell wishes for you to have a good breakfast before your meeting with the Clave today. They agreed to come here instead of you visiting the Council Chamber."

This hardly brightened my mood—in fact, I was sure that _nothing_ at all could brighten my mood, save from being sent home, due to the lack of sleep I'd gotten. But I mechanically sat up and allowed Sophie to untie the countless knots around my current dress and help me into the red dress, which thankfully fit me much better. Looking at myself in the mirror, I finally understood _why_ there was need of maids in the Victorian era—the women couldn't get their dresses off by themselves. I was sure a dress such as I'd seen Jessamine wearing the previous night would need at least two or three maids to help her.

"Red," I mused as Sophie plaited my hair. "That's the ceremonial color, right?"

"Yes," she agreed, smiling at me in the mirror. Even with the scar, she was absolutely stunning when she smiled. "Every Nephilim must wear red when they take their Vows. The Clave will be pleased to see you are studying the _Codex_."

This thought didn't make me feel better, either—it was better for them to underestimate me and get it over with. After all, they were the same group who had banned my mother from Ascending and had forbidden my parents' marriage. I couldn't be blamed if I held a little bit of a bias when I met them for the first time, could I?

"There you are, miss," Sophie said after a peaceful silence, stepping back and surveying my reflection in the mirror. "The Clave should be satisfied with that."

Even Sophie, I realized with sadness, couldn't make me look prettier, but at least my dress looked slightly more extravagant. I stood up and was about to follow her out of the room when I caught sight of Jem's closed door across the hall and I asked in a low voice, "Sophie…what exactly is wrong with Jem?"

I didn't miss the tiny jerk she gave when I mentioned his name. "Is he ill?" she asked.

I hesitated, remembering Will warning me against telling Charlotte, but Sophie wasn't Charlotte, and besides, I had a feeling that she was trustworthy…hesitantly, I told her about Jem's strange episode the previous night, and the one I'd seen him have when I first arrived in London. Sophie took her hand away from her mouth when I was finished. "Master Jem is unwell," she finally said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, but she refused to give me a straight answer. I followed her downstairs to the dining hall, feeling another step removed from everyone else. Everyone seemed to know what was wrong with him but me, and he was just being polite to me because he had to. If he had the choice, he would probably be like Will, unflinching and uncaring. I bit down hard on my lower lip to hide the tears; I didn't want the Clave to see me cry.

* * *

Charlotte, Henry, Will and Jessamine were already seated at the table eating breakfast when I arrived; Jem was the only one absent. I could feel Will's harsh gaze on me as I took a seat, this time next to Jessamine so I wouldn't have to face them all. She shifted away from me, but I pretended I didn't notice.

"How did you sleep, Abby?" Charlotte asked me. "I hope the Institute is comfortable enough for you."

"It is, thank you," I replied, trying my best to smile. It was true: the beds _were_ comfortable, and I supposed one could get used to the dank chambers after a while, but it was the people inside I wasn't so sure about.

"Where's Jem?" Jessamine asked even before I'd finished speaking. "The Clave will be here in less than an hour and he's late."

"Jem will not be joining us today," Charlotte replied. "He is not feeling very well." My eyes snapped up, but Will's face was blank. Jessamine looked indifferent, sitting back in her chair at this, and I couldn't help but feel relieved that nobody suspected me. I stabbed unhappily at my eggs and ham, realizing that I'd been counting on Jem being there during the ceremony. So far, he was the only person who had been able to calm me down, with his steady manner and kind gaze. I felt… _better_ when I was around him. Less alone.

After half an hour had passed, during which nobody spoke and I had managed to do nothing other than rearrange the food on my plate, there was a low gonglike sound that reverberated throughout the room. I started, and Charlotte jumped up at once.

"That's the Enclave. Oh dear, they're early—Will, can you bring Abby to the library?" Charlotte seemed flustered, something I'd thought very out-of-character for her. But I didn't have time to dwell on it as Will stood up and said amusingly, "Follow me, future girl."

Technically, I should have been able to find my way to the library by myself, since Jem had shown me around the previous night, but with my current terror there was no way I would be able to remember anything. Gathering up my skirts, I stood up and followed Will out of the dining-hall. He looked quite entertained by my fear, as if it was enjoyable for him.

I wanted to ask him about Jem, but I knew I would only get a lie like Sophie had—or, with Will, something even worse. He walked so fast and so purposefully that I had to jog to keep up with him, my sore legs hating him more with every step.

But the stairs he led me up and the hallways he led me through were unfamiliar—at least, I hadn't remembered Jem showing them to me. "This isn't the way to the library," I couldn't help saying, rather indignantly.

Will turned back to look at me for the first time, and he finally grinned. "So you _were_ paying attention last night," he said. "I'm taking you through a shortcut—unless, of course, you'd like to walk through the Enclave on their way through the main entryway."

"No, I don't," I said quickly.

"Of course," Will replied lightly, "I _do_ demand recompense at some point."

My eyebrows raised. "What kind of recompense?"

His own eyes twinkled darkly, and I was just steeling myself for the worst when a pair of double doors burst open in front of us and a boy a year or two older than me strode out. He was handsome in a cruel way, with tousled brown hair and narrowed green eyes. I heard Will make a displeased sound next to me.

"Herondale," the boy snapped; he was glaring at Will with an expression of pure hatred. "What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same thing of yourself," Will said lightly, a grin stretching across his face. "Taking some books from the library, no doubt. You might want to recommend a few on improper relations with demons to your father—"

The boy's face turned bright red and he seemed about to retort, but his eyes landed on me for the first time and he gave a tiny step back. "I suppose you're the new girl from _America,_ " he drawled, as if it was the most horrible place in the world. "I can't believe that Charlotte called the Enclave all the way here just for an Ascension ceremony. She thinks she's getting special treatment just because she runs the Institute—"

"And I suppose _you've_ never gotten special treatment in your life, Gabriel?" Will interrupted.

Gabriel didn't seem to have a comeback to that, so he turned to me instead. "Not much to look at, is she?" he asked cruelly. My eyes widened in fright.

"Maybe not," Will agreed, "But, if given the choice, I would rather look at her than you—"

"Boys!" a voice called from the other end of the hallway. Thankfully, Will and Gabriel ceased their arguing and turned to see a tall, distinguished man walking down the hallway. He had a pale, pointed face and green eyes just like Gabriel, although his were dull and lifeless. "Gabriel, why aren't you with the others? And William, what are you doing here? You're too young—"

"For Enclave meetings," Will clarified. "I merely wanted to wish Abby good luck on her ceremony today." He sounded perfectly polite, and I tried not to make my expression one of surprise. I'd never met anyone who was able to change personas so quickly.

But the man didn't seem as if he'd heard a word Will said. "Where is the Carstairs boy?" he continued. "Surely he hasn't expired yet—"

I couldn't help my sharp intake of breath. A furious expression crossed Will's face; he started toward the man, and for a wild second I thought he was going to punch him. But the low murmur of a group of people was beginning to float towards us, and Will settled for simply whirling around and stalking away, fire in his blue eyes. I was left standing awkwardly with Gabriel and the older man, who were both staring at me.

"So," the man said, not seeming to care that Will had left. "Abigail Cartwright. You certainly do look like one of them," he said grudgingly, echoing what Jem had said before. "My name is Benedict Lightwood."

My eyes widened. _Lightwood?_ So these were the Lightwoods. I couldn't believe that Andrew Lightwood was descended from them…perhaps there was another branch of the family I didn't know about. And why did Will hate Gabriel so much? Of course, he didn't seem to be the most pleasant person, but I got the feeling that there was something deeper to their animosity.

Benedict and Gabriel were already beginning to move into the library, and I followed them past rows and rows of bookcases, past the armchairs in front of the (now-empty) fireplace where Jem and I had sat the night before, and directly to a row of long oak tables I hadn't noticed before. It appeared that the others had already arrived: I saw Charlotte sitting, again, at the head of one of the tables, and a group of mostly older males surrounding her, although I did see a white-haired woman amongst the crowd of men.

"Ah, there she is," I heard someone mutter, and soon everyone's heads were craned towards me. Again, I felt horribly awkward and uncomfortable as I scuttled over to one of the tables.

"Darling!" a female voice called, and a blonde woman stood up and threw her arms around me, followed by a veritable crowd of other blond-haired, brown-eyed Shadowhunters. I stared up at the Cartwrights, noticing with dismay that they all _did_ seem to be rather strange. One of them was wearing a pair of earrings that looked as if they were made out of human teeth and they all wore strange clothes in terrible patterns—one even had a bright green dress—that reminded me of Henry's unusual clothing choices. I wasn't at all comforted to see them, even though, I knew, technically, they _were_ my family. I quietly answered all of their questions such as "Who were your parents? Where did you live in America? Did they ever tell you about us?" as best as I could, hoping no one would see through my lies.

Someone cleared their throat after a while, and I felt relieved as the gaggle of people around me went back to their seats. A square-jawed, fair-haired man stood up and took their place, staring coldly at me. "Consul Wayland, this is Abigail Cartwright, as I'm sure you've noticed," Charlotte said in a brave voice. I gave the Consul a small smile; he didn't smile back.

"Are you prepared to take your Vows?" he asked. "It is a ceremony usually done when Nephilim are children, but it has been altered to fit you and is a mixture of the mundane Ascension ritual as well, since Charlotte has told me that you were living a mundane life before you came to London."

I gave a tiny nod, and he pointed at an empty spot in the middle of the floor. I noticed, with a jolt, Brother Enoch was standing there, a long, gleaming sword in his hands. The Mortal Sword.

Slowly, I walked over to the spot the Consul had indicated, and Brother Enoch came over to stand in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something warp and glimmer near the bookshelves, but as soon as I blinked it disappeared.

"Abby," said Charlotte, and I was jerked back to attention. "You'll need to kneel down."

So, conscious of all eyes on me, I did, sinking down to my knees in front of Brother Enoch. He handed me the sword, and I grabbed the hilt, holding it out in front of me, its point digging into the floor. I felt a strange pull as soon as I touched it, but my heart was pounding too crazily for me to think about why that was.

Above me, Brother Enoch had silently glided away to be replaced with Consul Wayland, who was holding a scroll out in front of him and staring at me with what I imagined was a disapproving look. "You are sixteen, correct?" he asked.

"I am, sir." The words left my mouth before I even had a chance to think about them: the pull of the Mortal Sword was too strong. With a start, I realized that if one of them were to ask me about where I _really_ came from, I wouldn't be able to lie.

But, luckily, he skipped straight to the Vows. "Do you swear to forsake the mundane world and follow the path of the Shadowhunter? Do you swear to serve the Clave, to follow the Law as set forth by the Covenant, and to obey the word of the Council? Will you defend that which is human and mortal, knowing that for your service there will be no recompense and no thanks but honor?"

My throat had gone very dry at the words _forsake the mundane world,_ but it was too late now. "I swear," I whispered.

"Can you be a shield for the weak, a light in the dark, a truth among falsehoods, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind?" Consul Wayland continued.

"I can," I said, but it was hardly louder than my first affirmation.

"And when you are dead, will you give up your body to the Nephilim to be burned, that your ashes may be used to build the City of Bones?"

I took a deep breath. "I will." _I'm sorry, Mom._

This was the part of the ritual where the mundane would drink from the Mortal Cup, said the _Codex,_ but since I was Nephilim I had no need for that. Instead my first Mark would be placed on me.

Consul Wayland took the Mortal Sword from me, and I rose to my feet as Brother Enoch replaced him. I tried not to look into the Silent Brother's eyes as he stood in front of me, blocking the others from view, even as I heard his voice inside my head.

 _Abigail Lucie Cartwright,_ he said, similar to the first time I had heard him. _Are you aware of the honor being done you, and will you do all in your power to be worthy of it?_

"Yes," I said, trying hard to keep my voice steady.

_And do you accept these Marks of the Angel, which will be upon your body forever, a reminder of all that you owe to the Angel, and of your sacred duty to the world?_

"I do," I told him, and Brother Enoch held up a small, pen-like object. A stele, I recognized. _Then the first of your Marks will be placed upon you._

The _Codex_ had said that it would be painful. I knew the Voyance rune, the power to see through glamours, would be the first. My hand was shaking as I held it out to Brother Enoch. He took mine and placed the tip of the stele on the back of my hand. I felt a sharp pain, like a needle was being stuck into my skin, when it made contact, but I forced myself not to betray any outward signs of discomfort as he drew the shape of a dark eye on the back of it. Black lines blossomed from the center, and I bit my lip so hard that I was drawing blood.

But finally, the pain began to recede and Brother Enoch stepped back, putting the stele back in his long robes. _You are now a Shadowhunter,_ he said, and the Cartwrights all began to applaud, although everyone else was looking rather bored.

 _I don't feel any different,_ I thought, and wondered if I should voice my concerns out loud, when I suddenly saw Will, standing by the bookcases where I had seen the air warp and shimmer shortly before my Vows. This time, when I looked directly at him, his outline didn't waver. Our eyes met, and he shot me a sarcastic smirk. _Oh,_ I realized with a jolt. I was able to see through glamours now.

Brother Enoch blocked my view of him again, and handed me two objects. One I recognized as a stele, and the other was a shining, silver dagger that blazed with light. _Your stele and Seraph blade,_ he told me, and I took them. I was officially a Shadowhunter now.

And I had no idea what I was supposed to feel.


	5. Five

**T** here was a celebration that evening, with cakes, pastries and a dozen kinds of dessert laid on the table. Agatha was certainly going to lots of trouble to prepare a party for a girl who had just arrived at the Institute barely over a day before—I presumed Charlotte must have had something to do with it. But it was obvious that no one cared enough to even partake in the festivities. Jem was still ill; Will, after I'd briefly seen him in the library, seemed to have disappeared entirely; Jessamine was conspicuously absent as well—although I hadn't particularly wanted her there in the first place—Charlotte said Henry was still working in his lab and wouldn't be up for hours; and although I had asked Sophie if she would be coming, she had just shook her head and said that she wanted to check on Jem, which was, I thought, her way of politely avoiding me.

So that left Charlotte, myself, and Thomas sitting at the grand table tucking into a feast fit for at least ten. Charlotte tried to make polite conversation, and Thomas was very friendly, but I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat. The past forty-eight hours had been so full of action and adrenaline that I had barely had time to let everything sink in. Now my mind was just beginning to process the fact that I was stuck a century in the past on a different continent, with the very people my mother had spent her entire life running away from. The open eye on the back of my hand, my first Mark, seemed to taunt me, as if it symbolized my mother glaring at me for what I had done. But what had I been _supposed_ to do?

As soon as the ceremony had ended, I'd bolted out of the library without speaking to anyone and shut myself in my room, reading the _Codex_ until my eyes had hurt and my brain had tired. I didn't want to think about my problem anymore; I couldn't stand Charlotte's sympathetic gazes and Will's glares. I wanted none of it.

In my bedroom, I had held the tip of the stele over my bare arm, wondering if I should start practicing runes. But the book had also advised that it was dangerous if the Shadowhunter wasn't trained well enough and that runes had the possibility to backfire if they weren't drawn properly. So I had decided not to, although I still burned with curiosity.

Halfway through the meal, the dining-hall doors opened and Will and Jem walked in. Jem looked much better than he had the previous night; there was a flush of color to his cheeks, although it might just have been because he was wearing a bright red waistcoat. At any rate, I couldn't help but feel relieved.

"I hope we're not too late," Jem apologized, taking the chair next to me while Will sat on his other side. "I searched the Institute to find Will before coming down here."

"He almost didn't find me, either," Will added, taking a piece of cake and stuffing it whole into his mouth. "I was reading quite an interesting book on how to turn into a flock of sheep."

"A sheep?" I asked, despite myself.

"Yes, they're little furry animals with lots of wool—" Will began.

"I think she knows what a sheep is, Will," Jem said, offering the bowl of pastries to him.

"I was not aware of the cultural differences in America, James, so I suppose you could even say I was being polite—"

"How are you feeling, Jemmy?" Charlotte asked, interrupting Will mid-sentence. I would have smiled at the look on his face if I was in a better mood.

"Quite well," he said mildly. "Abby, I apologize for missing your ceremony today, but Will tells me it went as planned."

"It did," I said. "I suppose I just expected to be more—"

"—Exciting?" Will offered.

I nodded slowly. "Why did the entire Enclave need to show up, anyway?"

"They wanted to see how Charlotte is keeping up with running the Institute," Will explained. "In case you haven't noticed, they don't trust her."

"Will!" Jem reprimanded, but Charlotte sat firmly in her seat.

"Why not?" I asked, twisting around to look at Charlotte. "You seem to be doing quite well, considering…uh…everything you have to go through."

"It's because I'm a woman," Charlotte said. There was a repressed anger in her voice. "They only let me run the Institute because of Henry, although everyone knows that he is just a figurehead."

I could think of nothing to say, except for, "They'll come around soon enough," thinking of my grandmother. So that was why she had been so relieved to hear that my grandmother was the head of the LA Institute.

Charlotte seemed to relax at this, and I felt gratified at being able to make her feel better. _Don't give up,_ I wanted to tell her, but instead I asked, "Where is Henry, anyway?"

"Probably in his lab trying to help you," Thomas spoke up, smiling at me crookedly. "He's barely left it all day."

I felt a rush of gratitude swell up inside me, and I almost smiled, but at that moment Agatha came into the room with a blueberry pie, and an achingly familiar smell reached my nostrils. Blueberry pie had been my mother's favorite recipe, and the smell reminded me of warm summer afternoons sitting in our sunny kitchen, waiting for the pie to come out of the oven…the nostalgia hit me like a wave. I looked up, and everyone could read the shock and sadness written plainly across my expression. To my horror, I felt tears sting at my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, pushing my chair back and standing up. "I have to go—the meal was wonderful." My voice cracked on the last word, and before I could really begin to cry I fled out of the room. As the doors slammed behind me I dimly heard Will say, "Don't worry. Agatha's cooking can bring even the strongest to tears of joy. I had the same reaction when I first came here."

* * *

I ran blindly through the Institute halls, not caring where I was going. I didn't want to go up to my room, I didn't want to go to the library…I considered just slumping down onto the cold stone floor and crying, but then I remembered the music room. I would be safe there. I would be able to _think_ there.

By a sheer stroke of luck, I made it there without getting lost once. Not bothering to shut the door behind me—Jem had said it was rarely used anyway—I went straight for the piano and flipped open the song book, barely able to see for the tears blurring my eyes. I wasn't the most adept at reading music, especially when I was upset like I was now, but I doggedly pushed forth, thinking about nothing except the music and the notes I was reading. I wasn't paying attention to the song, just letting the music wash over me and taking me to a different place. I wasn't in the London Institute anymore; I was at home in San Francisco practicing for my recital the next day, or practicing for my interview with Juilliard…

I wasn't sure how long I played, but my fingers were sore and my back was getting stiff when I finally stopped, slumping down onto the bench and feeling exhausted, as if I had just run a marathon.

"I think that piece sounds much better on the piano than it does on the violin."

I whirled around, jumping up in startled surprise, as my eyes landed on Jem standing in the doorway. "Jem!" I exclaimed. "How long have you been here?"

He looked sheepish. "I heard most of what you played."

I couldn't muster up the courage to be embarrassed as if it had been Will who had overheard me. He understood music; knew what it was like to completely lose yourself. Perhaps he even knew it better than I did. "So you followed me up here," I said gloomily, sitting back down on the bench. He walked into the room—I noticed he didn't have his cane—and sat down beside me, as we had done the previous night.

"Not exactly," he admitted. "I remembered what you said about playing music, so I guessed that you had come up here. I'm the same way."

"Oh, I'm so pathetic," I groaned, dropping my face into my hands as if it could cover my shame. "I left because Agatha's blueberry pie smelled like the ones my mother used to make."

"I don't think that's pathetic," Jem said. "When I first came here, things like that used to set me off at a moment's notice. The way someone looked at me, the way someone said something…I think most of it was how _different_ London was from Shanghai. I'm sure you can relate." He grinned at me, and I noticed something green gleam against the base of his throat.

"It's like I'm in a parallel universe," I agreed. "That's even what I thought when I first arrived here."

"Everything changed so quickly, didn't it?" Jem asked. "It's overwhelming at first."

I turned toward him, glad to know that someone could understand me. I nodded, and we sat in silence for another long while, the only light the shadows at our feet. "I wish I'd met you before," I blurted out, and then cringed at the stupidity of my statement. "I mean, if it had been possible. You…you make me feel better. Like things aren't so hopeless."

"That's because they aren't," Jem said quietly. "I find that things usually have a way of working themselves out in the end."

I turned to look at him, smiling lightly. "I hope so."

"I am to begin training you tomorrow morning," he said after another companionable silence. "If that's all right with you."

"What does this training consist of?" I asked warily.

"Just the basics—stealth and agility at first, and then physical combat. You should be ready to go out on your own in a month or so."

"A month," I repeated doubtfully. It seemed awfully close.

Jem grinned at me, and I could see the flash of his white teeth in the moonlight. "Don't worry—it's quite simple once you get the hang of it. You have your Marks now, after all." He reached out and hesitantly took my wrist, turning it over so that my Voyance rune was facing him. When I didn't pull away, he said, "I do regret not attending the ceremony earlier today."

"It's fine," I assured him. "Will was there, being his usual, uh, charming self."

"I'm sure he was," Jem said, letting go of my wrist.

"See, that wasn't a good thing."

"Will means no harm," Jem began.

I snorted. "That's like saying demons are just misunderstood. It's as if he _wants_ everyone to hate him."

"Perhaps he does," said Jem quietly.

"Well, he's certainly doing a very good job of it."

We lapsed into another silence, but it wasn't awkward at all. I wished Jem would stay, if only because he seemed to be a balm for my aching heart. It was as if he could patch up the wounds inside me and give me hope.

"Why aren't you pressing me about Will?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked, pulled out of my reverie. "It's none of my business," I said. "I just wish he wasn't so rude to me. I don't need to worry about him on top of everything else."

"Then don't," Jem said, and there was an odd look in his eyes. I looked at him curiously, wanting to know what had caused the sudden change, but he turned away from me. "You should be getting to bed soon," he said, standing up abruptly. I did too, feeling disappointed for a reason I couldn't explain. "Charlotte will want you to wake early tomorrow."

"Oh, all right," I said, following him out of the room and downstairs to our bedrooms. I felt as if something had changed during our conversation in the music room, although I couldn't say what. In front of my door, Jem paused and pulled out his stele. "Can I try something?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, holding out my arm. He pressed the tip to it, lighter than Brother Enoch's touch had been, and drew an unfamiliar pattern on my arm. I watched as it glowed brightly and then seemed to sink into the very skin. I suddenly felt invincible, unbeatable, like I was on top of the world. I stared up at him, my mouth opening. All my trepidation and fear vanished.

"It's a courage rune," Jem said, smiling at my wonder. "I find it helps when I'm feeling particularly down."

"Thank you," I said, struck with the sudden urge to hug him. "You know, I expected Marks to hurt. This one did when Brother Enoch placed it on me." I pointed at my Voyance Mark.

"Well, the Silent Brothers are much more powerful than your ordinary Shadowhunter," Jem explained, and I remembered a question I'd wanting to ask for a while.

"Why are they mutilated like that? It's…horrifying."

"They are a bit strange, aren't they? But they've chosen that life," Jem explained, although I couldn't imagine why anyone would _want_ to. "It's symbolic, the removing of their eyes and the stitching of their mouths. They don't feel as we do, so I'm sure you didn't offend them by commenting on their appearance."

"What do they do all day? Just look through the archives?"

"Nobody knows," Jem replied, shrugging slightly. "Will swears that they sing, but I'm not so sure."

I laughed. "That would certainly be a surprise."

"I'll make sure to let you know if I ever find out one day."

Smiling, I said, "Good night, Jem," and let myself into my room, feeling a tiny vestige of—dare I even _think_ it?—hope.

* * *

But whatever sliver of hope I had been feeling after our conversation in the music room was shattered that night. Instead of falling straight to sleep like I had been lucky enough to do the previous two times I'd fallen asleep in the Institute, I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, staring at the darkness of my room and wishing childishly that I had a night light. I could be anywhere now, in my bedroom or in the motel waiting for my mother to come back.

I must have drifted off to sleep sometime, although I couldn't have specified when. All I knew was that the next moment, I really _was_ back in the motel, staring at the spider on the wall and my heart pounding as I tried to wait out the storm.

Across the room, the door creaked open. I shot up in bed, a scream stuck in my throat. My mother stepped into the room, and I relaxed. "Mom, where have you been?" I asked as she hurried over to me, wrapping my arms in her soft embrace. "I had a horrible dream—I thought I would never be able to get back home—"

"It's all right," she kept saying over and over. I leaned into her embrace, but instead of her familiar smell there was something different, a scent of—oddly enough, burnt paper—and something spicier that stung my nose—

And then she pulled away, and I realized that she wasn't my mother after all. Her skin rippled and twisted, her lips pushing back into a snarl and her skin turning green. She was transforming into the demon that had been chasing me, and I began screaming, and screaming, and screaming—

"Abby, _please wake up!_ " A quiet but urgent voice jerked me out of my dream, and I shot straight up in bed, a half-sob, half-scream still caught in my throat.

Sweat was pouring off me, soaking my white nightdress and curling my hair. The blankets were kicked onto the floor, and my heart was pounding crazily. For a moment, I was honestly clueless as to whether I was in the motel or the Institute.

And then I realized there was someone else in the room, and I screamed again, rolling right off the bed and landing hard on the stone floor. "Abby," the same voice breathed, and I caught sight of something silver hurrying around the bed and kneeling down next to me. "It was just a nightmare. You're safe."

I was trembling hard and my eyes were huge as I cringed away from the person who had run up to me. I couldn't see his face properly in the darkness, and for a moment I thought he was a ghost, or just part of the shadows himself. Then, as I my eyes adjusted, I realized it was Jem, wearing a white dressing-gown. Paired with his pale skin and white hair, he was clearly visible even through the darkness.

"Jem," I said, fighting hard to control my shivers. "You're right. I'm so sorry…I dreamt I was back in California and my mother…she turned into the demon that had been chasing me." It sounded stupid when I spoke the words out loud, but Jem seemed to understand.

"I was practicing the violin when I heard you screaming," he said, holding out a hand. I stared at it for a moment before taking it and letting him pull me to my feet. "I hope you do not mind that I burst into your room like this, but I feared you were hurt."

"Don't worry about it," I told him, crawling back under the covers and wrapping them tightly around me. "It's fine. If you hear me screaming again don't worry about it." I paused. "I guess that courage rune faded."

"You had a nightmare," he said reassuringly. "Runes cannot guard against the mind."

"Unfortunately," I replied, rather ruefully. "Thank you, Jem. For waking me up."

He smiled and started towards the door, but just before he left he said something in an unfamiliar language: " _Zhu ni zuo ge hao meng_."

"What does that mean?" I asked, curious.

"It means _Have a good sleep_ ," Jem replied. "Good night, Abby."

And, surprisingly, I did feel much better. I fell asleep to the sound of his haunting violin music, lulled into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It felt like only minutes later that it was the next morning and Sophie woke me up. Still tired and disoriented from the night before, I silently prepared myself to get laced up in another decadent dress, but I had no sooner come to terms with this fact when I saw that Sophie was carrying an outfit that looked wonderfully similar to the tracksuits that were popular in 1978; it looked like the gear Will and Jem had been wearing on the night I had first met them: a pair of tight-fitting pants and a shirt with a weapons belt on it in a sleek black material. I let out a cry of joy as I shed my nightgown and pulled on the training gear. It had only been two days since I'd worn pants (or, as the British called them, trousers) but the feeling of having my legs free again was nevertheless a great comfort in a strange way.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone so excited about training clothes before," Sophie said dryly as I jumped around the room, feeling as if shackles had just been lifted off me.

"Can I just wear these from now on?" I asked hopefully, pulling the pins from my hair, twisting it into a high ponytail and rolling up my sleeves, where the outline of the Courage rune Jem had drawn on me was still faintly visible, although it was beginning to lighten.

Sophie laughed. "I don't think Mrs Branwell would mind, although you might get strange looks if members of the Clave come to visit." She placed a breakfast tray on the table, where my stomach growled at the smells wafting off it. "Speaking of Mrs Branwell, she and Mr Branwell are gone for the day on Clave business. She instructed that you have your breakfast here before going up to the attic. I believe Master Jem is waiting for you."

I sprang into action then; after what Jem had done for me last night, I didn't want to keep him waiting. I slid into one of the chairs and quickly ate the breakfast Agatha had prepared—at this rate, I would be gaining a hundred pounds. I had to admit that despite the downsides of living at the Institute, the food was definitely not one of them. Mom could cook well, of course, but she wasn't a trained cook like Agatha was.

Sophie patiently waited while I ate, until I mustered up the courage to ask, "Is Will, uh, always rude to everyone?"

A shadow seemed to cross over her features at the mention of his name, and I immediately regretted asking her. "Mr Herondale speaks his mind whenever he wants to, no matter the situation," she said, her mouth almost seeming to force the words out.

"I hope he's not going to be training me as well," I said, and then instantly clapped a hand over my mouth; I didn't want my dislike to be too obvious in case it got back to him and then he would treat me even _more_ horribly than he already did.

But Sophie's expression softened. "Master Jem is able to balance him out, if he is," she told me. "Don't worry, Miss Cartwright."

"I hope so," I mumbled.

* * *

When I'd finished breakfast and Sophie had readjusted my ponytail so that it wouldn't fall out, I stuffed my stele and seraph blade into my pocket before heading up to the attic for training. Jem and I had come up these stairs the night before, but I'd never actually seen the room. My feet ghosted on the stairs as I hurried up them, wondering if I could draw a strength rune on my skin so that I wouldn't be so hopeless—

But I stopped dead when I heard voices floating out from the half-open door; they sounded like Will and Jem arguing. I shrank back, unable to decide whether I should go ahead in or wait until they resolved whatever it was that had them so upset. But then I heard my name—or rather, Will's name _for_ me—and I froze.

"…I must have spent six hours in Downworld haunts last night, trying to track down the shape of the ouroboros on that bloody dagger! I was posing as a human subjugate in a gambling house, risking my life every second, while you were gamboling about with future girl—"

" _Will._ " Jem sounded faintly amused. "You were not risking your life, and you know I would have not been able to come with you anyway."

"I do know that, James. I was merely expressing my displeasure that, for once, you were getting the better end of the deal than I was."

"The better end of the deal?" Jem echoed. "You have done nothing but insult Abby ever since she arrived!"

"She is too naïve," said Will. "She believes everything I say. If I told her that we were going to use her as a human sacrifice she would ask me where the altar was. I have no interest in plain, dull girls. Besides, she has not read a book in her life."

"What if you were in her position?" Jem asked reasonably. "In a different city, in a different time, with absolutely no one you knew there. You would act strangely, too."

"No, I wouldn't," replied Will. "I would charm the others so profoundly that they would not wish to find a way to send me home."

I heard Jem sigh. "Of course you would," he muttered, but it sounded good-natured enough.

Something must have alerted them to my presence, because I heard footsteps clunking across the room above and the door swung open, Will standing in silhouette against the light. "Well, well, well," he said, staring down at me. "I suppose eavesdropping is socially acceptable in 1978, isn't it, future girl?"

"Ignore him, Abby," I heard Jem say, and he appeared behind Will, all light against the other boy's darkness. "It's what most people do."

"At least I didn't get into the part about the Downworlder brothel I frequented as well," Will said as I ran up the rest of the steps, grateful I didn't have to pull up the skirt of my dress, and emerged into the attic. "I fear that would have been too much for your fragile nerves."

"I think," I said, feeling braver now that I was on eye level with him, "That I might be accustomed to more than you think." Perhaps a Victorian girl would have blushed at the mention of a brothel, but I had no qualms about discussing such subjects with a frank manner. I suppose I'd snuck into one too many R-rated movies.

"Perhaps in the mundane sense," Will agreed, "But Downworlders are of a much different _position_ , if you know what I mean—" He was interrupted by the loud clearing of Jem's throat. He glanced over at his _parabatai,_ suddenly looking alert, but relaxed when he realized that it had been deliberate. "Care to join in, James?" he asked.

"As much I would love to discuss the debauchery of Downworlders, I fear that Charlotte will reprimand us if she finds out that you have been educating Abby on the, er, peculiar habits of Downworlders rather than training her." Jem walked toward the front of the room, and I got a good look at it for the first time. It was long and narrow, with floorboards that were scuffed from undoubtedly countless years of training. There was a faded orange target on the far wall, and long horizontal windows offered a view out onto the street, which was obscured by a sidewalk and a row of hedges. The ceiling was high and arched; I could see beams placed along the roof.

"Where's the altar?" I asked Will, staring around the room.

For once, he seemed taken aback. "What?"

"For my human sacrifice," I said, enjoying the expression on his face. "Isn't that what I'm up here for?"

I heard Jem laugh across the room—it was a rich sound, full of delight, and I automatically began to giggle too. Will looked back and forth between the two of us and crossed his arms. "I see how it's going to be," he complained. "The two of you are ganging up on me!"

"Oh, don't pretend like you didn't know it was going to happen someday, Will," Jem said, crossing the room with a speed that I was unused to and handing me a long knife, where I looked at it rather warily. "You often leave me alone when you spot an attractive woman. It's about time I did the same. Now," he said before I could ask him whether he had referred to me as 'attractive', and if he had, he needed glasses pronto, "This might seem rather daunting at first, but it's actually a fairly good warm-up exercise. It will test your agility and adeptness at hitting potential targets, which is very useful when you need to get a demon that is out of range."

"So I just hit the orange target?" I asked doubtfully.

Jem nodded. "Just flick your wrist back. It's more about the swiftness than the power, anyway." He took a step back, going to stand against the wall next to Will. Swallowing hard, and wishing their eyes weren't on me, I gripped the hilt of the knife in my right hand and fixed my eyes on the fading orange target, praying to the Angel that I wouldn't mess this up.

"Any day now," Will called lazily. I glanced over at him, my concentration broken, and in my frustration and desire to prove myself I threw the knife too soon. It soared in an arc across the room, striking the wall inches from Jem's head—and feet from the target.

"Oh my God!" I squealed, clapping my hands over my mouth and staring wide-eyed at Jem. "I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to—"

"You're no worse than Will when he first started," Jem said calmly, as if I hadn't nearly impaled him with a knife.

"At least I actually hit the target!" Will protested, but neither of us paid him any attention.

"You have to twist your upper body as you throw," explained Jem, pulling the knife out of the wall and striding over to me. "Like this—" He positioned himself behind me so that our bodies were nearly touching, and lightly grabbed my wrists, guiding my hand back. I felt color flood my cheeks as he pushed back and then twisted me around. Just as he'd said, the knife flew straight across the room, hitting the target dead center.

"James, the only thing that could have made that more painful to watch is if you had hit me in the eye," Will complained, pushing off the wall and moving forward, pulling his own knife out of his weapons belt. "You were supposed to move _with_ her, not five feet away from her." To my annoyance, he took Jem's spot and crushed my back tightly against his chest, holding my wrist in a death grip, not at all like Jem's light, feathery touch, and stuffed the knife into my hand. I barely had time to get a solid grip on it before he thrust my hand back. The knife soared across the room at a dizzying speed and slammed into the wall next to the first one, vibrating slightly as it did. It had hit with a much greater force than the first one. I couldn't hide my relief as Will stepped away from me; I'd understood it better when he demonstrated, although I wished it had been Jem.

"You don't look too pleased," Jem said, smiling lightly at me as he went to go retrieve the knives. "Is Will's irresistible charm not working on you?"

Will put a hand to his heart. "Tell me it isn't so! Any girl from any time period should be besotted with me by now."

"I'm afraid I'm not," I told him. "I prefer men who don't feel the need to insult me at every step."

"It builds character," he said, and then in a lower voice, "You certainly need some."

"And perhaps _you_ ," Jem said, handing me both knives as he glared at Will, "need a little bit less."

The dark-haired boy sighed dramatically. "I can tell when I'm not wanted," he said. "I shall go downstairs and have to depend on Jessamine for company. How you desert me so, Jem!"

"Oh, dear," Jem replied, although his lips were twitching.

As he started toward the door, clearly glad to be leaving the room despite his melodramatics, he called out, "I _was_ supposed to be your chaperon, but I doubt Jem would know what to do if you were dancing in front of him, er, dressed in, hmmm, well, if you weren't dressed _at all_ , so I don't see why Charlotte is worried, really."

" _What?"_ I screeched.

"You're telling me." Will wrinkled his nose. "It's not exactly my mental picture of choice, either." I heard a whooshing sound from behind me, and Will ducked out of the room just as one of the knives hit the closed door behind him. I turned to Jem, shocked, but from the grin on his face I could tell he hadn't really been intending to hit Will, that it was all in fun.

"He thinks he's doing us a favor," Jem said.

"Why?" I asked, but aside from a slight reddening of his face he didn't answer.

* * *

For the rest of the morning, I was subjected to brutal (in my mind) training exercises, many of which involved me dodging objects Jem threw at me and twisting myself into ridiculous positions and seeing how long I could hold them while wielding a knife. I was forced to do a backflip on a mattress and do a front roll while simultaneously pulling my seraph blade out of my pocket. By the time Jem finally called a break, every inch of my skin was bruised, my muscles were screaming in agony, and my face was bright red, my hair falling out of its ponytail. If this was what being a Shadowhunter was like, I wanted no part in it.

While Jem went to put the knives and mattresses away, I slumped onto the ground, my nose pressing into the wooden floor and my limbs sprawled out in every which direction. "You did very well, Abby," he praised me, and I felt him gently grab my hands and pull me up to a standing position. I groaned and fell back against the wall.

"I'm hopeless," I complained, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'll never be able to fight a—a _duck,_ much less a demon!"

Jem's easy laugh sounded from above me, and, confused, I opened my eyes to see him sitting on one of the rafters on the roof overhead, his feet dangling down. "Don't let Will hear you say that," he called down to me. "He hates ducks."

"I do too," I confessed. "When I was seven, I was feeding the ducks in Golden Gate Park once and one started chasing me. I tried to run away but ended up falling right into the pond. Since then I've always hated the creatures."

Jem laughed again; the sound was as musical as his violin. "Don't let one duck speak for them all," he told me.

"But it's safer that way—how did you get up there, anyway?"

He pointed to a ladder that reached up the far side of the wall. "Care to join me? The view is much better up here."

Although I knew I would regret this later, something propelled me upwards, and I went over to the ladder and hauled myself up it, keeping my eyes fixed on Jem. He beckoned me over to him, and I carefully balanced along the rafters, trying not to look at the hard floor below. I'd never been particularly afraid of heights, but the sight was daunting even for me.

"You look nervous," he commented as I slid onto the rafter next to him. A slight wave of vertigo washed over me, and I couldn't help but nod as I stared down at the sheer drop, my fingers tightening on the rafter. "Take out your stele."

Puzzled, but glad for a distraction, I reached into my weapons pouch and pulled out my stele, popping it open. "Do you remember what the equilibrium rune looks like?" Jem asked.

I squinted at him, trying to recall one of the many runes I'd gazed at in the pages of the _Codex._ "Is it the one that looks like a Z with a dot on either side?"

He nodded. "Try drawing it on your arm."

I obediently rolled up my sleeve and placed the tip of the stele onto the skin of my bare arm, pushing it down hard enough so that it would leave an indentation but wouldn't break the skin, slowly tracing the pattern of a rune onto it. It looked rather messy, and not as neat as I'd hoped, but as I took the stele away it seemed to have done its job: a steady feeling of balance washed over me, and I was no longer scared of falling: in fact, I was so confident that Jem could have physically pushed me off the rafters and I wouldn't be harmed. "I can't believe I didn't think of that before," I told him. "Thank you so much."

"You'll get used to it," he said. "Soon enough you won't even need to use the rune. Everything gets easier in time." The intensity of his voice during his last sentence made me feel as if he was talking about more than training.

"Jem," I asked after a long silence—we seemed to have those a lot—"If you don't mind me asking… why are you in the London Institute anyway? Why didn't you stay in Shanghai?"

He didn't respond right away, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer, but he appeared to be carefully weighing his words. "It was decided that I was to move to either Idris or London, since the Shanghai Enclave suspected that the Greater Demon's _friends_ —if you can even call them that—would try to come after me as well. I chose London because neither of my parents had ever been to Idris and I wanted to go somewhere that could still tie me to them."

"I'm sure they would be very proud if they could see you now," I said, and now it was my turn to smile at him as genuinely as I could. No one could smile as honest and truthfully as Jem could, but it was worth it just to see his eyes light up.

The door banged open below us, and I jumped, forgetting for a moment that the newcomer wouldn't be able to see us immediately. I expected it to be Will or Jessamine, but surprisingly it was Henry. His ginger hair looked darkened at the ends, as if it had been singed, and he was carrying a small brown object that looked almost like a remote. As we watched, he pointed it at the target on the wall.

"Henry—" Jem called, and he leapt straight down from the rafter, landing as nimbly and gracefully as a cat. "I wouldn't do that—"

Henry turned toward him, but it was too late: he had already pressed the button. A resounding bang shook the room and I automatically ducked as the windows all shattered, pieces of glass landing in my hair and settling onto the ground.

"Did you see that?" Henry cried excitedly after a moment of stunned silence. "There was a flash of blue light, just like Abby described! It's working!"

I scrambled to my feet and headed for the ladder, climbing down as fast as I could while shaking the glass out of my hair. " _Was_ there?" I asked hopefully, darting over to him. "I don't see anything…"

"It only appeared for a second, but it worked!" Henry exclaimed, his eyes shining as he turned to Jem and I. "I reckon it will only take a couple more weeks, Abby, and you should be sent back home!"

"Henry, er…why exactly did you decide to test it up here?" Jem asked as delicately as he could.

Henry blinked owlishly at him. "It's the largest room in the Institute, of course! And I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"Where were you and Charlotte this morning?" I asked, suddenly remembering what Sophie had said.

"Oh, did we go somewhere?" Henry said, looking confusedly at me and scratching his head. "I don't quite recall…"

Jem sighed. "I suppose Charlotte went on her own again," he whispered to me before saying in a normal tone, "Well…that's wonderful, Henry. I do feel that you should perfect the design before testing it on a human." We all looked up at the windows, where a cold breeze was blowing into the room.

Henry nodded, although I wasn't sure he had heard Jem at all. "I'll have to get Lottie to fix that," he muttered to himself. Jem tugged at my sleeve and started towards the door. I followed him, leaving Henry standing in the training room saying something about a "Sensor" and "Demon".

"Does Henry, um, often do things like that?" I asked once we were out of earshot.

Jem, looking worried, nodded. "You'll get used to it after a while, but I don't want you to get your hopes up, Abby. When Henry says a couple of weeks he probably means a couple of months."

A stab of disappointment surged through me, and I couldn't hide the frustration on my face. _Months…_ the prospect stretched before me just as horrible as if it he had said years. What was I doing, playacting at being a Shadowhunter? I ought to be helping Henry make a Portal, not talking up on rafters with Jem and trying not to cry whenever Will insulted me!

"Is the Institute really so terrible?" Jem asked. He was smiling, but I thought I could see concern deep in his eyes. "I know you probably think the worst of us…but we really do mean well."

"No, it's not the people," I admitted, although that was stretching the truth. I could probably learn to ignore Jessamine for the most part—it was Will who seemed like he was the more difficult one, though he _had_ admittedly been almost joking with me this morning. "It's everything else. I'm just really…homesick. Everything here is so different. I can't take comfort in anything."

Jem pursed his lips, as if he was considering something, and then he asked, "Would it be too forward of me to ask if I could show you around London this afternoon? I did promise I would when you first arrived here, and I think you might feel better afterward—not so foreign."

"I think," I said slowly, "That's just what I need."

* * *

I hadn't left the Institute at all since I'd first arrived there, and was excited at the prospect of getting out. Jem promised to meet me in ten minutes, and I nearly flew back down to my room, ringing the servant bell that would summon Sophie. It was a strange feeling for me, to have a maid. It was strange to have someone dress and undress me, tend to the fire and make my bed. I had told Sophie she didn't have to help if she didn't want to, but she said she was more than happy to oblige me.

By the time she arrived, I'd already changed out of my training gear and pulled on a simple yellow dress, one of the ones that Charlotte had brought me and assured me that Jessamine would never wear. "How was training, miss?" Sophie asked as she deftly laced up the lace on the back of the dress.

"It went well, I think," I mused. "Jem is a very good teacher so far. He's going to take me sightseeing around London."

"Sightseeing?" Sophie asked, and I could have sworn I heard an edge to her voice. She took a step back from me, and I glanced over at her with a questioning look, but she was staring down at the ground. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she straightened up, smiling gently. "I do hope you enjoy yourself, miss. I believe you need it."

I blinked several times at her, wondering if I should ask anyway, but she was already leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her. I shook my head in confusion and went to sit down on the bed, thinking ruefully about how this new world I'd found myself in was very strange indeed.

Ten minutes, almost to the second, after Jem and I had parted, there was a light knock at the door. "Abby?" Jem asked. "Are you ready?"

I flew over to the dressing-table, where I slung my purse over my shoulder, not caring how odd it looked over the dress, and opened the door, a smile on my face. "Let's go."

* * *

The sky was a gloomy shade of gray, a light rain beginning to drizzle, as we left the Institute and headed down one of the roads that led down to the river. I noticed that Jem had his cane again, although he didn't appear to be relying on it too much. As he walked, he pointed out each of the buildings to me, promising to show me around more thoroughly when it was a nicer day. "London is meant to be seen in the sunlight, although the sun doesn't appear to like London very much," he said ruefully.

I laughed. "Everything is just so… _drab_ here. I'm used to color and sun. I wonder if _I'll_ turn colorless if I stay here long enough."

"When I first came here, it always astounded me that it could rain and rain for months on end without even a glimpse of sunlight," Jem said. "But I eventually got used to it. Soon enough you'll be celebrating just as much as the rest of the city when it _does_ happen."

We'd emerged from one of the streets onto a bridge that stretched the expanse of the Thames, connecting one side of the city to another. It was painted red and yellow, with intricate arches and thick stone parapets. "Blackfriars Bridge," Jem announced as he stopped walking, placing his hands on the railing and staring out at the river. I leaned against a parapet and followed his gaze, remembering that he'd mentioned it the first night I was there. "It's not much of a view," he said apologetically, "But it's my favorite place in the city."

I had no idea why, but I let him stand there in silence for a while, concentrating on whatever he was thinking. Finally he turned to me and smiled, that smile that made me feel as if I was the focal point in the universe. "I'm sorry if this tour wasn't as grand as you hoped," he said. "I can bring you around the city now if you want—"

"No, I don't mind here," I said, gazing out at the London skyline. "It's perfect."

Jem chuckled. "That wouldn't be the word most people use to describe this particular spot. The bridge is often overlooked by the more ostentatious, grander bridges. But…I prefer the less showy ones, myself."

"I do too," I admitted. "At least this means there are less people around."

He grinned again, a little lopsidedly this time, and after a moment he said, "Everything is going to be all right, Abby. You know that, right?"

I looked at him, a bit surprised. "I…"

"I know the feeling," he said, and I saw his knuckles whiten slightly on the railing. "I used to have terrible nightmares when I first came to London. I woke up screaming like you did…only there was no one there to comfort me."

"But you're fine now," I told him, and he quickly looked away from me, unable to hold my gaze.

"And that's what I mean, Abby," Jem said. "The people at the Institute…I eventually grew close to them, and they became my family. If you give them a chance, they can become your family as well. Shadowhunters form relationships that, although quicker than mundanes, are generally deeper as well. If someone forms a bond with someone, they are forever intertwined. That is why there are so few divorces in our world. That is why you cannot leave your _parabatai_."

"I can't wait to become close with Will and Jessamine," I said, a bit bitterly. "So I suppose they're like the crazy old aunts in your family you have to love anyway?"

Jem laughed in spite of himself, looking back at me. "That's one way of looking at it," he said, before turning serious. "But you have to give them a chance first."

"I doubt Will is suddenly going to change," I sighed. "He's so…mysterious. And not in that good way, like how you meet a new boy and he's really sarcastic but also kind and caring at the same time."

If Jem had no idea what I was talking about, he didn't show it. "Everyone has their secrets," he said quietly. "Will and Jessie and I…we're all orphans. Henry and Charlotte, though they are not that much older than us, are our surrogate parents."

This was news to me. "Jessamine and Will are orphans? I was thinking they were just training here…"

Jem shook his head. "Jessie's parents died in a fire when she was very young. They despised the Clave and all it stood for, and because of that none of the other families would take her in. That's why she's so bitter…she didn't want this life, but she has to live it anyway."

"And Will?"

This time it took him longer to speak. "Will's father married a mundane woman and left the Clave—rather like you—and when Will was twelve, he arrived at the Institute. His parents came looking for him a couple of weeks later, but he refused to see them."

I was struck by this new information. "So he chose to become a Shadowhunter, then."

"I suppose." Jem's tone was suddenly a bit farther away—not colder, precisely, but more neutral. "Charlotte did tell me that he said 'I have nowhere else to go'…"

"Which would be a rather odd thing to say if he'd chosen it." Something in Jem's tone told me that he didn't know the answer any more than I did, so I let the matter drop. "He should still be able to see his parents if he so chooses. It's all the Clave's fault." My tone was uncharacteristically bitter, and I saw a hint of surprise in Jem's face. "If they didn't have that rule, or if they'd allowed my mother to Ascend, Dad wouldn't have had to face that Greater Demon unarmed and been killed. I know, it was illegal for him to do it, but you did tell me that Shadowhunters have stronger bonds than mundanes. They should have taken that into account—"

"Abby." Jem's voice was very soft. "Even if your father _had_ still been a Shadowhunter, there is no guarantee he would have survived the Greater Demon attack. My parents were both trained and they still couldn't win."

"But I can't help wondering how my life would be different if my father was still alive." Hesitantly, I reached into my purse and pulled out the picture of my father, handing it over to Jem. "That was taken on the day I was born."

He studied it for a moment, smiling gently. "You look very much like him."

"That's what Mom always said," I mused, leaning back on the railing and staring up at the cloudy sky. "I wish I remembered…"

Jem's hand suddenly tightened on his cane, and I glanced over at him quizzically. He was staring at me strangely, as if trying to figure out the best way to tell me something. "You deserve an explanation, Abby," he said.

"About what?"

"About me." Jem leaned forward, his silver eyes fixed on mine. "I have been trying to decide whether to tell you or not all day. Will didn't want me to—that's why he was in a bad mood when you overheard us in the training room—but I feel that you deserve to know. You already know that I'm ill."

"You mean explain why you were coughing up blood the other night and I had to give you that powder?" I asked.

He nodded, seeming to take a deep breath before speaking. "The reason the Greater Demon—it was called Yanluo—attacked the Shanghai Institute was because of a grudge it held against my mother. She had destroyed many of its eggs in a raid, and it searched for revenge. I was eleven at the time, and it tortured both of my parents before injecting me with demon poison." He swallowed, looking away from me. "It was…horrible, to say the least. I saw all sorts of visions…horrible metal creatures and London in flames. For three days, my parents screamed out for me. My father died first, and the last memory I have of my mother is her crying _'Jian, Jian_ '—my given name. James is my British name." He smiled, sadly, but to me it looked like more of a grimace. "It was days after that before others realized what was wrong and rescued me from the Institute. But it was too late—I was already addicted to the demon poison. I have to take a drug every day—it's called _yin fen_ —and it contains small amounts of demon blood, enough to give me the fix I so desperately need. But it's slowly killing me as well. If I stop taking it, the withdrawal will kill me."

"So you're doomed either way," I said softly. I didn't want to speak too loudly; I almost felt as if Jem was a frightened rabbit and any sudden noise would startle him, although I knew he was stronger than that.

"Yes." He let out a sigh. "I will not last the decade. The _yin fen_ drains me of my coloring—I used to have dark hair and eyes—and occasionally, when I have not taken enough, I go into fits and the Silent Brothers have to assist me. Will is usually the one to find me, but you were unlucky enough to be the only one there last night. I had not taken any of the drug at all yesterday."

"But—aren't you looking for a cure? Surely there must be one—"

Jem shook his head slowly. "There is no cure. I used to believe it might be possible, but years have gone by…and there are thousands, if not millions, of people who are addicted to _yin fen_. If there was one, it would have been found by now."

I didn't know what to say. We were both silent for a long time. My brain was scrambling, trying to figure out how I could comfort him. "So why didn't you go to Idris? It is the Shadowhunter country…" I said. "Maybe there would have been help for you there—"

"I never regretted choosing England. If I hadn't come to London, I wouldn't have met Will, or Charlotte, or Henry, or..." He cut himself off. "That is why I am a Shadowhunter, Abby. I could choose to let my illness take over me, but to do so would be a disservice to my parents and Yanluo would have won. I fight so I can save others from meeting the same fate as my parents. Besides, I know I will see them again."

"How?" I couldn't help but ask.

He smiled. "I believe that if one is meant to be with someone, they will meet again in the next life."

"So...like reincarnation?" I asked stupidly.

Jem nodded, still smiling at me. "It is not a very popular opinion amongst Shadowhunters, to be sure. As Will often says, 'We are nothing but dust and shadows'. What do you believe?"

I was startled at being put on the spot. "I'd like to believe there's a life after this one," I finally said. "Looking at it from a mundane perspective, if demons and angels exist, then I should think it logical that God exists, too."

He nodded slowly. "That is a very good point. I am inclined to agree with you."

"Wait," I said, another question popping into my mind. "Why didn't Will want me to know about your…condition?"

Jem's face suddenly hardened. "He did not think you would be so…understanding of me. Many believe that the addiction is somehow my fault, and they will insult me."

"But it's not your fault!" I demanded, so vehemently that it surprised even me. "How could anyone think that?"

"You would be surprised."

I sensed that this was a touchy subject for him, and tried to change it to something more lighthearted. "Well, you must be getting lots of female attention, then. You are so kind, any girl would want to marry you—"

"I will never marry," Jem said, and his tone wasn't self-pitying in the least, just matter-of-fact, as if he was stating that the sky was blue. "I have just over a year left to live, if that, and it would be selfish for me to marry when I would die soon afterwards. Besides..." he trailed off, looking away from me, out over the water, where the slight breeze ruffled his silvery hair, "No girl would want a dying boy as her husband. They would prefer someone like Will, with all of his energy and vitality."

I was silent too; struggling to think of what to say. It was obvious that Jem didn't expect me to answer, but I felt I had to speak. "But you..." I struggled to put my thoughts into coherent words. "...I'm sure that you would give them everything you had, make them a part of yourself. I should think that would be enough for them."

Jem shook his head slightly, the movement so small that I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or not. "There is no such future for me." He met my gaze again, looking me squarely in the eyes, and I felt like crying; he had resigned himself to his fate a long time ago, but it was still new to me. I gave him the saddest smile I could manage. I looked down at the bridge again, and saw that our hands were still inches apart on the rail. I had the sudden urge to put my hand over his and squeeze it, but while I was still deliberating, the moment passed, and Jem straightened up, turning away from me. "We should get back to the Institute," he said. "The others will be wondering where we are."

I knew he was right, but I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. Jem gallantly held out his arm to me, and I took it. As we walked back across Blackfriars Bridge, neither one of us speaking, I could feel the weight of the secrets we both carried press in on us.


	6. Six

**I** f I'd ever thought that training would become easier with practice, I would soon find that I had been very, very wrong.

"I think I've got the hang of it, Jem," I gasped out with my last remaining breath, trying not to look down from where I was crouched on the rafters, my hands gripping on to the wood for dear life. He had taken it upon himself to become my teacher, and if I'd thought that his gentle demeanor meant that he would go easy on me, I was, again, proved wrong. He was relentless, pushing me as hard as I could go and keeping me on my toes, but at the same time he seemed to instinctively know what my limits actually were and he would never force me to do anything I really didn't want to do. From learning how to throw knives _correctly_ to understanding my enemies' potential weaknesses, I had learned more about survival skills in practice than I had ever learned about _anything_ in theory.

"Do you?" his quiet voice said from behind me, though not without a hint of amusement, and I whirled around, my hands slipping a little on the polished surface. I let out a frustrated groan, blowing the hair out of my face. My ponytail was falling out and I constantly had to keep shaking my hair away, since my position was far too precarious to consider letting go of the rafter and adjusting it.

Today's exercise was evasion, meaning that I had to practice throwing my seraph blade at targets marked on the floor while simultaneously avoiding him. I'd stopped for a moment to catch my breath, thinking he was on the other side of the room, but he moved so quickly and silently that it was impossible to be confident he would stay in one place. "I guess not," I groaned, reluctantly leaping to the next rafter and pulling myself up. It was easier to concentrate on the task at hand with my courage and equilibrium runes, which were inked across my arms like an array of tattoos—I was starting to get used to them—but my brain still hadn't quite adjusted to being suspended fifty feet off the ground for hours at a time. I'd used ropes at first, but today Jem had decided that I was ready to graduate to the "real thing", as I'd sadly called it.

"I know you can do this, Abby," he said encouragingly, his silver eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming through the high windows. "You've been doing remarkably well."

I wasn't so sure about that—I'd fallen on my face more times than I cared to admit—but it was nevertheless gratifying to hear that he was at least trying to make me feel better. "In whose estimation?" I grumbled, but pulled my seraph blade out of its sheath and glanced back at Jem, who was already beginning to pursue me.

Even though I knew he wouldn't _really_ harm me if I was caught, I still felt a rush of adrenaline as I jumped to the next beam, and the next, trying to find a position where I could throw my seraph blade at the target without getting caught by him in the process. Seeing as how Jem moved so rapidly, this was a near-impossible task.

Just when I thought that I had enough time to ready my aim and jump out of the way, I sensed Jem right behind me again—I'd discovered that he preferred the elements of surprise and agility, whereas Will charged straight for his target and tried to intimidate them into running away. Both of these tactics were effective in their own ways.

"By the Angel," I groaned—I'd found myself speaking like a true Shadowhunter more than once—and forced my body to move again, narrowly managing to dodge out of Jem's grasp and somehow not accidentally stabbing myself with the blade. I was one for small victories.

Below us, the clock chimed twelve, signaling my hour-long break, and in relief I secured myself into a more comfortable position, thinking that Jem would stop, and flung my seraph blade at the target. It stuck right in the middle, and I grinned in victory, already preparing to jump down from the rafters.

There was a tap on my shoulder, and I twisted my head around to see that Jem, in fact, _hadn't_ stopped the training. If he had been a demon, I would have been dead long ago…but as it was, I wouldn't have stopped for lunch if I was fighting a _real_ demon. "That was an excellent shot," he said, grinning, "But you have to remember to always watch your back."

He said those words at least five times a day, and I _still_ found it difficult to remember them in the heat of the moment. "Don't you think I would have absorbed some of those tips by now? I'll have to face the fact that I'm going to be stabbed in the back— _literally—_ one day."

"Not necessarily," Jem said lightly as we leapt down to the floor, me ecstatic at feeling solid ground under my feet again. "You just need to learn how to focus on more than one thing at a time—which is why I'm making you do this exercise."

"Easier said than done," I mumbled, pulling what was left of my ponytail out and threading the elastic over my wrist. At least I didn't have to worry about training for the next twenty-four hours—the routine was the same every day: training in the morning, sightseeing and studying the _Codex_ in the afternoon, and free time after dinner (which usually turned into the music room for me).

It had been two weeks since I'd arrived at the Institute, and I found that I was adjusting much quicker than I'd thought I would, considering my situation. I did still wake up in the middle of the night after a horrible nightmare, but to my knowledge I hadn't screamed again and Jem had never mentioned anything. I would occasionally become depressed and have a good cry when I thought no one was around, but I _did_ know that (most of) the residents of the Institute were trying their best to make me feel welcome and at home, and I couldn't express the depths of my gratitude towards them. Besides, I was so busy most of the day that I couldn't concentrate on anything but my training.

Henry, unfortunately, hadn't made any progress in creating a Portal (I'd gone down to his laboratory once, but I could never get past the fact that it was also a crypt and I found myself escaping the room after half an hour) but Jem and Charlotte had both assured me that if anyone _could_ invent something that would be able to send me home, it was Henry. I wasn't as confident as they were, considering his track record, but I supposed even the most brilliant inventors had started off with failures.

Jem and I had become quite close, or so I liked to believe, during the weeks I had been living at the Institute. I spent most of my days with him—he was my teacher in the mornings and my sightseeing guide in the afternoon. Every day he would show me a different part of London—from Whitechapel to Fleet Street, I had been given the whirlwind tour of the city. Jem was so knowledgeable about everything—he knew more than most of the locals did—that I was certain he could have been a successful tour guide if he wasn't a Shadowhunter or musician. I was even beginning to find my way around London without his assistance anymore, and I was sure I would be able to find my way back to the Institute if I ever became lost. Nevertheless, I still refused to leave the building by myself—I wasn't _that_ confident yet.

Although Jem had told me more about his parents and his early life in Shanghai, as well as teaching me a few simple phrases in Chinese, he carefully avoided the topic of his illness and, aside from his cane and the occasional cough, nobody mentioned it or even pretended it existed at all. I could sympathize with him on that aspect—if I was in his place, I wouldn't want constant fuss and attention either; I would want to let it hinder me as little as possible. Aside from once ending training early because he was feeling tired, I barely noticed that he was paler than the rest of us, or that he sometimes seemed as if he was relying on his cane to hold him up.

Jem had been my companion on all but one of our daily walks—the previous weekend he and Will had gone off to track down a Ravener demon that had been reportedly evading capture for the past several months, and Charlotte had instead assigned Jessamine to be my guide, a gesture that was unappreciated by both of us. Instead of showing me around the city like Jem did, Jessamine had dragged me to a mundane dress shop and forced me to stay there for three hours while she pranced in front of the mirror, asking me if she looked beautiful in the dresses (my answer always had to be yes). Charlotte had been furious when she'd found out, but the outing hadn't been without its discoveries: while I was trying to make polite conversation, I'd mentioned that Thomas seemed to be interested in Sophie—I'd seen him staring at her with admiration and longing more than once across the table during meals—and Jessamine had maliciously informed me that Sophie wasn't in love with Thomas, but with Jem. This had been a bit of a shock to me at first, but after giving it a bit of thought I had to admit that it made sense: Sophie was always asking after Jem, and she did seem to be very fond of him. It also explained her stiff demeanor whenever Jem and I came back from our walks and why I sometimes felt as if she disliked me. "But Jem will never love her back," Jessamine had said cruelly, pirouetting in front of the mirror in her bright crimson dress.

"Why not?" I asked, knowing that it wasn't wise to begin gossiping with the girl who most likely gossiped about _me_ behind my back, but I was unable to contain my curiosity.

"Because Sophie is just a servant," Jessamine replied dismissively, as if we were merely talking about clothes rather than someone's feelings. "She might have been pretty _once_ , but no man except for Thomas will ever give her a second glance—not with that scar. She is far too common."

"Well, _I_ like her," I'd said hotly; despite Sophie's apparent jealousy of me, I was very grateful for her help getting me into various dresses every morning and for tending to the fireplace before I went to bed.

Jessamine had glanced at me with faint amusement. "You would," she had said unkindly, and the subject had been dropped.

But our conversation hadn't left me without food for thought: I'd observed Jem's behavior toward Sophie later that day, and it was obvious that Jessamine was right: there was no added spark in Jem's eyes when he looked at Sophie like there was in Thomas's: he treated her like he treated me and Charlotte, with respect and friendship, but nothing deeper than that. I found myself secretly relieved by this fact, but although I had examined it at great length I had no idea why I would feel _relieved_ that Jem didn't return Sophie's feelings. It wasn't because of the fact that I preferred her with Thomas, or wished for her to acknowledge his own adoration for her: I didn't know either of them well enough for that. No, there was no conceivable reason as to why I was glad that Jem wasn't in love with Sophie. At any rate, I felt horrible for even _thinking_ that, but of course I wasn't going to bring up the topic around Jessamine again.

I didn't bother to change back into a dress when we went downstairs for lunch; Charlotte allowed me to wear my training gear around the Institute as long as the Clave wasn't visiting. The first time this occurred had earned me quiet laughter from Jem, bafflement from Henry, disdain from Jessamine, and open mockery from Will. Whatever notions I'd had that perhaps the brooding, attractive boy didn't hate me so much after all after our first day in the training room vanished once I'd hesitantly smiled at him and received a glower in response. He completely and totally ignored me if I ever tried to speak to him, and the only time he would ever acknowledge my presence was insulting every aspect of my appearance and abilities to someone else as if I wasn't in the room. Jem had once asked me, concern in his eyes, if Will was bothering me, but I had told him that I didn't care, although that had been a lie. I didn't want to let him get to me, and perhaps if my life hadn't been as topsy-turvy as it currently was I would be able to brush off his insults, but as it was he reminded me too much of the boys who had laughed at my father's grave, with that cruel glint in his eyes. Handsome or not—and I was ashamed to realize that I might have even developed a crush on him had he not been so impolite—I wished I didn't have to face him every day.

As usual, Jem and I were the last ones in—we had the farthest to walk, after all. Jem took his usual seat beside Will and I sat down next to Charlotte and Henry—I felt protected near them, safer in a way I couldn't quite explain. As I dug in to my chicken and tea, I noticed that the mood at the table was very quiet indeed, devoid of Will's offensive jokes and Henry's excitement over whatever invention he was attempting to create next. Charlotte seemed quiet and withdrawn, worry buried deep in her brown eyes. "What is it?" I asked her quietly, but of course the whole table heard.

"Another mundane child has disappeared," she said with a heavy sigh. "We are still no closer to finding the cause."

I met Jem's eyes from across the table, his now looking just as anxious. "Another mundane?" I asked. "You mean there has been more than one disappearance?"

Charlotte nodded. "There have been rumours circulating for quite a while that mundane children are being dragged off the streets and then systematically murdered, but we do not yet know how or why."

"That's terrible," I agreed, "But why would Shadowhunters have anything to do with that? I thought we weren't supposed to involve ourselves in mundane affairs." Dimly, I realized how different I sounded speaking those words, as if I had never wished to become a mundane myself. Perhaps the two weeks at the London Institute had changed me more than I thought.

" _We?_ " Will asked snidely. "You are hardly more than a mundane yourself."

It was the first time he had addressed me directly in a long while, and I felt my heart sink. Luckily, Charlotte didn't pay him any mind as she answered, "We are technically not supposed to, but we have evidence that there may be a larger conspiracy occurring. Last month, Jem and Will found the body of a fourteen-year-old mundane girl who appeared to have been stabbed to death. The symbol on the dagger lying next to her, an ouroboros, has been traced back to several Downworld haunts."

"So the children are being killed by Downworlders?" I asked, feeling slightly sick. I had never met a warlock, vampire, faerie or werewolf, and after hearing this piece of news I didn't wish to in the least.

"Not necessarily," Jem spoke up. "The symbol often appears with mundanes who involve themselves with magic. There could be any number of things that are going on. We do not know if this is the work of one demon or Downworlder, or if it is on a much larger scale."

"I don't suppose you know what an ouroboros actually is?" Will asked me snidely. "If you are to someday accompany Jem and I on one of our assignments investigating a Downworlder haunt, it would do you well to become more informed." If I had been more outgoing or bold, I would have shot back "And I don't suppose _you_ know what the word 'politeness' means?" but as it was, I could only shake my head blankly. He reached into his pocket and slid a dagger across the table at me, its blade encrusted with dried blood. I shied away as it spun toward me, thankfully stopping at the edge of my plate, but I wasn't bothered by the blood: it was the symbol on the handle that I recognized: two snakes biting each other's tails.

"I've seen that before," I gasped. "On my first night here, I passed by a carriage with that symbol painted on it."

Now I had everyone's undivided attention: with a bit of satisfaction I noticed that even Will looked surprised. "Did you notice anything else about the carriage, Abby?" Charlotte asked, leaning forward and looking ardently at me. "Any other unusual symbols or markings?"

I nodded, casting my mind back to the words painted on the side of the carriage. "It had the letters _The Pandemonium Club_ painted in gold, but that was it. I didn't notice anything unusual about the horses or driver."

Jem and Will exchanged a long, meaningful look; I glanced nervously at Charlotte, hoping that I'd given her the information she needed. "The Pandemonium Club is an association of mundanes who dabble in the magical arts, hoping to become powerful," Jem explained for my benefit. "It is run by Downworlders, and the mundanes usually do not meet the most pleasant ends."

"So then the disappearances _are_ connected with Downworlders?" I asked, struggling to understand.

"It seems likely," Charlotte agreed. She still looked concerned, but somehow satisfied, as if she was one step closer to figuring out the problem. At the opposite end of the table, Jessamine looked disinterested, as if she hadn't listened to a word of the conversation.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, James?" Will asked smugly, standing up from the table.

"Unfortunately, I believe I am," Jem replied, reaching for his cane and standing as well.

Charlotte looked resigned. She turned to Henry, but he seemed to be more preoccupied with the gasolier hanging from the ceiling. "Promise me you'll be careful," she begged of the two boys.

Will pretended to be hurt. "Since when am I _not?_ "

Henry jerked to life with a start, staring at Jem and Will confusedly. "Where are they going, Lottie?" he asked Charlotte.

But it was Will who answered instead, his eyes sparking with a wicked excitement: "We are going to investigate a certain Pandemonium Club."

* * *

To my disappointment, Jem was gone for the rest of the afternoon, carrying out whatever investigation he was doing with Will. There was no way I was going to go anywhere with Jessamine ever again, and everyone else at the Institute was too busy with their own tasks to take me sightseeing. I supposed I _could_ go for a walk on my own, but it was now pouring heavily outside and I didn't want to brace myself against the rain.

I ended up spending the afternoon in the training room, perfecting my throws and scuttling across the rafters, pretending that Jem was after me. Most of the pressure was taken off when there was nobody around to watch me, but that meant most of the fun was taken away as well. I ended up just sitting on the rafters, staring outside at the water streaking the windows and feeling unusually lonely.

* * *

Will and Jem still hadn't arrived back by dinner that night, and I went up to the music room by myself. Usually Jem would join me, and I would play the piano while he played his violin, spending the evening in companionable silence. I'd taught him a few songs on the piano so far, and he had taught me at least to _hold_ the violin—but whenever I tried to play it always came out sounding like a tortured cat. Jem had tried to reassure me that I would get better with practice, but he told me that about everything and, at least in the case of the violin, it seemed as though I was getting _worse,_ not better _._

After I had played a few songs, I decided to go to bed early. There was no point staying up later, anyway, and Jem would expect me to be wide awake for our training the next morning.

I felt almost like a ghost as I slipped through the silent halls of the Institute, moving almost noiselessly. I was sure that I would never be able to move with the composure and elegance that both Charlotte and Sophie possessed, but at least I wasn't waking up the entire neighborhood with my footsteps like I had used to.

A fire was already blazing in the grate when I reached my room. I frowned—that was certainly odd; usually Sophie didn't arrive until much later. But when I pushed open the door, I was met with a tall, dark figure sitting at the table.

I shrieked and jumped back, my heart pounding. Will glanced over at me, eyebrows raised. "Some Shadowhunter you are proving to be," he said carelessly. "I never thought I'd see the day where I would actually believe Jessamine is more adept at something."

"What do you want?" I demanded, too startled to be polite. It was then that I saw my purse was open on the table, my father's journal lying in front of Will. "You _read_ it?" I gasped, feeling the blood drain from my face. It was one thing to have Charlotte read it, but _Will_ …

"Which question do you want me to answer first?" he drawled, a wide smirk on his handsome features.

I wasn't sure what expression was on my face, but it was enough to make him answer, "It was a bit of a boring read, really. Nothing very interesting happened—I was disappointed."

"Well, he was _killed_ twelve hours after the last entry!" I said, my voice spiraling up into hysteria. It was the first time I'd raised my voice to Will, and I immediately regretted it, thinking he would snap at me right back.

But, instead of being annoyed, he looked almost _pleased_ at my outburst. "Anger suits you, future girl," he said to me, standing up and scraping the legs of the chair behind him. "It gives me hope that you actually _have_ a personality."

"Anybody would be angry if you went through their private things!" I snapped, seriously considering smacking him over the head with the purse.

He ignored my comment, instead remarking, "It is a shame about your father. Greater Demons can overwhelm even the most skilled Shadowhunt—oh, _mundanes_."

Every word he said was just riling me up even more. "Why are you here?" I asked between clenched teeth.

"Waiting for you, of course," he said, walking over to me; I instantly took a step away from him. "Get dressed—you are going to the Pandemonium Club."

"With you and Jem?" I asked, confusion taking the place of anger. "But I thought you already went—"

"We found _information_ on where it is being held, not the club itself," Will explained, sounding as if he was talking to a child. "Now hurry up; we don't have all night."

But I refused to move. " _Why?_ "

He let out an exasperated sigh, clearly not thrilled that I was asking so many questions. "Because you are the one who gave us the information, after all, and because it is so packed with mundanes, you will be able to blend in with them easier than Jem and I can. Besides, aren't you ever going to put your training to actual _use?_ "

"But Charlotte—"

"—Is not going to find out." Will strode towards the door. "I'm giving you five minutes to get dressed, unless you would like my assistance—"

" _No!_ " I cried, and glared until he closed the door behind him, still with that idiotic smirk on his face. When the room was quiet again, I went over to the table and flipped through the journal, making sure that no pages were ripped or illegible. The idea of him reading my father's words was absolutely mortifying:

**_March 5, 1962_ **

_Grace has gone into labour. I rushed her to the hospital earlier today and despite her reassurances, I still don't trust mundane medicine. I want to call my parents-my mother would surely know what to do, but I do not want them to face the Clave's wrath if they ever found out I attempted to communicate with them._

**_March 6, 1962_ **

_There is still no change. Grace is in terrible pain and I can do nothing to help. I need to do something. The Silent Brothers could help, but I cannot call on them. I have never regretted leaving the Clave until now._

**_March 7, 1962_ **

_Thank the Angel-Grace has given birth to a baby girl. We named her Abby-Abigail Lucie Cartwright. I know that my grandmother Lucie would be honoured that we are using her name. I just wish she could see her great-granddaughter. She has the Cartwright looks-blonde hair and brown eyes. She seems extraordinarily intelligent for a newborn-her eyes have already focused!_

The next fourteen days were all brief entries as well, describing our return home and my sleeping patterns (or lack thereof) as well as how I had smiled at Dad while he was playing with me; all the way to the very last entry on March twenty-first: _Abby gripped my finger today with her tiny hand and laughed when she refused to let go…I may have given up a Shadowhunter life, but the Angel has blessed me with a family, something that I cherish even more than my heritage. I just wish that I had the chance to bid goodbye to Marcus and my family before I left the Clave…perhaps I can contact Brother Zachariah and ask him to pass a message on to them…_

Marcus Herondale, I knew, had been my father's closest friend when they were children, and judging by the descriptions I had heard here, they had probably been _parabatai_ as well. With an unpleasant jolt, I wondered if Marcus was related to Will in any way.

Speaking of Herondales, there was a loud, impatient knock on my door and Will called out, "What are you doing in there, future girl? Do you need help figuring out what a dress is?"

Sometimes the best reaction was no reaction at all, so I stuffed the journal back into my purse and hid it under the mattress in case anyone else decided to come snooping around in my room, before reaching into my wardrobe and pulling out the first dress I saw: a frilly burgundy number that I had never worn before. To my relief, it didn't look like it would be impossible to lace up, and very aware of Will standing just outside the door, I pulled off my training clothes and stepped into the dress, twisting my arms around my back so I could try to tie up the laces into the most complicated knots I knew, wishing I had paid more attention when we were learning knots in Girl Scouts.

When I was fairly certain that the dress wouldn't fall off me, I pulled my hair into a messy bun before finally walking over to the door and opening it. Will was leaning on the opposite wall, against Jem's bedroom door, his eyes half-closed. " _There_ you are," he said disapprovingly. "I was beginning to fall asleep waiting for you."

 _I liked you better when you were ignoring me,_ I thought sullenly, especially since I was sure that I had taken less than my allotted time of five minutes, but I mutely followed him downstairs and out into the entryway, the only light guiding our way the torches burning on the walls. When I felt the first rush of cold night air blowing in from the front door, Will fell back and turned into another hallway.

"What are you doing?" I asked, sure it was some sort of trick.

"Going to get Thomas," he replied, sounding preoccupied. "Go out to the carriage first."

I supposed I could try to escape, but there was nowhere I _could_ go and I had no other choice; I didn't want to face Will's wrath. Besides, I felt safe when Jem was around. After watching Will disappear into the darkness of the Institute, I hesitantly stepped outside onto the front steps. It had stopped raining, but the air was still humid and stifling—it was nearly June—and I felt myself already beginning to sweat in my thick dress.

The carriage and horses—a pair of huge black stallions that Jem had told me were named Balios and Xanthos— were already waiting just inside the gate. Holding my dress up so it wouldn't get wet in the mud that caked the ground, I slowly picked my way down the pathway and reached out to open the door of the carriage, seeing that Jem was already sitting inside.

"Will, what took you so—" he began, but his silver eyes widened when he saw it was me. "Abby!" he exclaimed midsentence. "What are you doing here?"

"She's coming with us," Will's deep voice said from behind me, and I gasped—I hadn't heard him come up behind me. Scuttling into the carriage, I sat down on the seat next to Jem, who looked thoroughly upset.

"Will, you can't bring her!" Jem was appalled; it was obvious he hadn't been in on the plan.

"I believe I just did." He looked smug. "She can finally make herself useful—she knows more about mundanes than we do."

Jem looked poised to argue further, but I quickly said, "Don't worry about it—I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked as Will disappeared again, presumably to instruct Thomas on where to take us. "It's not too late to go back—"

"Jem, I'm fine," I said, although my hands were shaking and my heart was pounding. I didn't want to chicken out in front of them, not now, after I'd trained so hard.

He seemed about to say something else, but his eyes fell on my dress and his eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Abby, er, your dress is coming undone," he said, trying and failing to look away.

I could already feel myself blushing—this was my second embarrassing moment of the evening. Why hadn't Will told me? He'd been walking _behind_ me on our way to the carriage. Then again, it was just like him to stay silent and wait until I could be humiliated at the worst possible moment. "Can you tie it up?" I asked him, beginning to stand and then wondering if this was against the strict Victorian morals.

"Yes, of course," Jem mumbled; at least he sounded as awkward as I did. He stood up too and I could feel his fingers fumbling with the laces. We were standing even closer together than we had when he'd been teaching me how to hold the violin, and I could feel his heart stuttering against my back. There was something electrifying about this moment, and the knowledge that he was so close made me want to lean into him further. The dress was already beginning to slip off, an unfortunate slight I hadn't noticed when I'd been hurrying into the carriage, and I could feel Jem's warm breath on my bare shoulder. My worry about Will's plan had somehow disappeared, and all I could concentrate on was Jem—I had never been standing this close to a boy before for so long. Some part of my mind was aware that he had finished lacing up the dress, but neither of us made any move to pull away.

I was beginning to wonder if I should say something or reach over to touch his hand when Will bounded into the carriage again and we instantly jumped apart. "Perhaps you two _do_ need a chaperone," he said, pretending to cover his eyes from the sight. "That at least would explain why you spend so much time in the training room."

"He was just helping me lace up my dress," I muttered. Will sat down across from us and continued to smirk evilly. "I didn't see him lacing up anything," he said. Neither Jem nor I spoke, although I desperately wanted to alleviate the awkward atmosphere that had suddenly sprung up between us.

The carriage jerked to life then, the horses' hooves clopping on the uneven ground, and we rumbled on towards the Pandemonium Club.


	7. Seven

**I** spent the carriage ride wondering how to lighten the tense atmosphere; I didn't understand why things were so awkward. All Jem had done was lace up the back of my dress. Was that taboo in Victorian times? And why had I wanted to lean back into him, to touch his hand and feel his breath on my bare skin? Could I possibly be attracted to him?

No, I told myself, this was _not_ the time to be developing feelings for _anyone_ , let alone Jem, a boy who would be dead within the year. He had told me so himself. Besides, there was absolutely no way that he could feel attracted to me in the slightest. I hadn't even had a _friend_ who was a boy before, let alone a boyfriend. It was best to just put that incident behind me and learn how to tie up my own dress next time.

None of us spoke until the carriage ground to an abrupt halt: Will was the first one out, easily leaping to the ground and disappearing off into the night. "Does he, uh, do that a lot?" I asked, waiting for Jem to retrieve his cane and climb out after him.

"All the time," Jem said easily. "One gets used to it quite quickly." I breathed a sigh of relief—the color was gone from both of our faces and our easy closeness had started back up again. I hopped out of the carriage first, earning myself an amused chuckle from him.

"What?" I said, a bit defensively. "Am I supposed to wait for you to help me out?"

"Yes, you are," a different, though no less kind, voice said. Thomas had stopped the carriage on what appeared to be a nondescript street, and the people surging around us didn't so much as give the area we stood in a second glance. It took me a moment to realize there had to be glamours at work. "You are quite a peculiar girl, Miss Cartwright," he told me. "But I daresay that you are," he shot a half-glance at Jem, "Exactly what the Institute needs."

According to Will—who explained it to me with no small amount of exasperation—Thomas had parked the carriage (which most certainly wasn't the proper term, but it would take more than two weeks for me to get used to the old way of speaking) several streets away from our _real_ destination. After instructing Thomas to be back within the hour, we began to head through the nearly-deserted, shadowy streets. I trailed along behind Will and Jem—the dim light from the gaslamps cast odd shadows on their skin and made Jem look even paler and sickly than he already did. Averting my eyes from his figure, I glanced down at my feet, picking their way through the cobblestone street worn by years of horses' hooves, and took a deep breath. The river must be close; I could taste the Thames on my tongue, the mist seeping through my clothes and into my skin.

The two Shadowhunters eventually stopped in front of a lighted storefront, waiting for me to catch up. I could hear dim music playing from inside, and blurred figures could be seen moving around inside. I licked my lips and tried to look nonchalant when in reality I felt like a quivering mess. Now I was wishing I had been able to stand up to Will and refuse to go along with his ridiculous plan.

"Remember," Will instructed me, "Act like you are merely a mundane interested in the Shadow World—which should be quite easy for you."

"Then why are you telling me to remember it?" I asked quietly, but my weak comeback fell on deaf ears: Will had already started toward the door. Jem followed him, so unless I wanted to stand out on the street for the next hour, I was forced to follow Will as well.

"The Pandemonium Club meets in a different location every week," Jem explained to me, staring up at the light blazing from the windows and leaning on his cane. I suddenly felt as if I had been catapulted straight into a Charles Dickens novel—I'd once watched _A Tale of Two Cities_ as an after school special when there was nothing else on TV—and sometimes I just had to blink and shake my head to remind myself that nothing was a dream, that this was real life and I had to get used to it for the next undetermined length of time.

In the meantime, Will had already strode up to the door and was staring back at Jem, impatience written all over his face. "Hurry up, James!" he called. "You're hardly being inconspicuous."

Jem shot me an apologetic smile as he headed after his _parabatai_ , and I reluctantly gathered up my dress and followed him, somehow managing to step right into a puddle in the middle of the street. So much for Shadowhunter dignity.

I made sure to stick close to Jem as we stepped inside, keeping my arms close to my body as if I could somehow conserve space, not wanting to draw attention to myself. For the first time, I wished I was even shorter than I already was.

A thick haze hung low over the room, reminiscent of the fog that constantly blanketed London. But this cloud of smoke seemed toxic somehow, and as I inhaled I swore I could feel it entering my lungs and sticking to the back of my throat.

Dozens of tables lined the room, some stacked with cards and others with poker chips. I could barely see for the haze of smoke that curled from the ends of countless cigars and pipes. What seemed to be hundreds of men sat at the tables, feverishly shuffling cards and smacking the chips down on the table. I guessed this was some sort of gambling house—it wasn't at all what I'd pictured the Pandemonium Club to be like. At least everybody here looked relatively _human_ , although I knew there had to be to Downworlders in the crowd.

"See that man in the corner?" Jem whispered to me. "The one in the dark suit?" My eyes fell on a distinguished-looking man who appeared to be arguing with the person seated opposite him. "That's the Prime Minister."

My eyes widened, although I had no idea what his name even was. "The _Prime Minister?_ But—why is he here?"

"Many important members of mundane society are part of the club," Jem explained. "They are being manipulated by Downworlders into losing all their money gambling and are then forced into debt, essentially becoming puppets."

"That sounds horrible," I said, staring over at the Prime Minister. He appeared to be vehemently yelling at his opponent, who was sitting calmly with his arms crossed. I wondered how big the scandal would be if the general public was to find out their leader involved himself with magic and demons after dark.

Ahead of us, Will had already pulled out the dagger and was weaving through the crowd, presumably acting as a foolish mundane curious to know where the _ouroboros_ had originated from. The tang of cigar smoke was heavy in the air, and I was certain I could see opium scattered on the tables, the white powder identical to Jem's _yin fen._

We crept toward Will, who had stopped in the middle of the room, surveying the scene. Nobody seemed to be paying him any particular attention, and I was about to ask what to do next when I saw him shudder slightly, and a dark cloud passed over his features. "Behold," Will muttered under his breath, "A Lightwood in its natural habitat." Jem and I followed his gaze to where I recognized Benedict Lightwood standing over one of the tables next to a beautiful mundane woman. Her hair was as black as the night sky outside and I could see that her skin was completely fresh and unmarred. She gazed up at Benedict adoringly as he spoke in a low voice to her.

Will let out a sound of disgust and turned away; I saw the flash of the dagger in his hand. Jem said something to him in a low voice and they moved toward one of the tables, presumably to speak to one of the mundanes sitting there. I started to follow them, but there came an angry shout from the Prime Minister's table and everyone craned their necks to see what was going on. The men sitting near me stood up to get a better view, shielding Will and Jem from sight. I peered around their backs to see where the two boys had gone, but I could barely see with the smoke clouding the air and the bodies had all merged into one indistinguishable mass. I sighed; so much for being useful.

Well, it was probably best to stay in the same place until they found me again. Wasn't that the general rule if you ever got lost in a crowd? Then again, it hadn't been _me_ who had gotten lost…

"Hello," said a voice from behind me. I turned around to see a good-looking man with blond hair and blue eyes. He had an American accent, the first one I'd heard since this awful mess had unfolded, and I felt strangely comforted. "Are you lost? Women don't usually attend these meetings."

It hardly looked like any sort of _meeting_ to me, but I didn't remark on this fact; instead, I blurted out the first lie I could think of: "My husband is a member of the club, actually. He brought me along today, but…" I trailed off, wondering how a Victorian woman would react to the atmosphere. "It's a bit too much for my nerves, I think. All these fumes are getting to me!" I tried to laugh, waving my hand in front of my nose as if attempting to ward off the smell.

The blond man looked sympathetic. "Completely understandable," he murmured. "What is your husband's name? Allow me to deliver you back to him."

His words made me sound as if I was nothing more than a parcel. Then again, in these times, women were viewed as objects in the mundane world. I had to remind myself that he was just a mundane—at least, I didn't see the black swirls of runes on his arms at all. "His name is…um…er…" My mind went blank for a second, and, again, I said the first thing that came to mind: "Marcus Heron—Smith." God, Will was going to kill me.

"Marcus Heronsmith?" the man asked, frowning slightly. "I don't believe I've ever heard that name before…is he a regular member of the club?"

"Yes," I lied. "He was just over there…" I cast a glance over the room, pretending to look for him but instead searching for Jem or Will. I couldn't recognize anyone in the crowd, and even Jem's silver hair wasn't visible. "I'm not sure where he went," I said dejectedly.

"Perhaps he went into one of the backrooms. Shall we go search for him?" the blond man asked. I gulped, searching for any escape route—but I was stuck and couldn't refuse without arousing suspicion. My heart was pounding against my ribcage so loudly I was sure the man could hear it. He grabbed me by the wrist, nearly pulling off my glove, and unceremoniously dragged me past the tables and behind a partition I hadn't noticed before. It was much darker and quieter here; I could see more clearly and the air was noticeably cleaner.

I tried to step away from the man, but my wrist was still being held in a death grip. "Sir, please—" I began, trying to step away from him. His hand traveled farther up my arm and began to push my sleeve back. I began to panic: he would surely discover the faint imprints of runes, and I was certain that, if he was so deeply embroiled in Downworlder affairs, a Shadowhunter would not be welcome—

Just as I was about to yank my wrist back, the man dropped it of his own accord and took a step away from me. His eyes now looked embarrassed and downcast. "Forgive me, ma'm," he said in a quiet voice. "I did not mean to be so forward. I just thought I saw a strange marking on your arm."

"No," I squeaked in terror; so he _had_ seen my runes. But why did he let go of my hand so suddenly?

The blond man was still apologizing as he began to walk farther down the hallway, obviously waiting for me to follow him. I stayed rooted in the spot, my eyes having caught the outline of a spider crawling across the wood. It was exactly the same size and shape as the spider that had been at the motel. How strange. I blinked twice and tried to look away from it, but my palms were already beginning to sweat in fear.

"Do you not want to look for your husband?" my unwanted companion was asking, looking confused. He glanced uncaringly over to the spider and brushed it to the ground with a wave of his hand. "If you feel unsafe being accompanied by a strange man, let me introduce myself. My name is Nat—"

"I'm sorry, I have to leave," I whispered; the spider was now crawling towards me, and there was only one escape. I turned on my heel and bolted back to the main room, but there was a group of burly men blocking my path. I whirled back around and searched the ground, cursing under my breath as I saw that the spider was _still_ following me. Why was I so scared of this damned spider? I could crush it with my boot if I chose.

But overwhelming fear was more powerful than my still-new fighting instincts, and I slipped into the nearest room, whose door was slightly ajar. The blond man had mentioned "backrooms", but I hadn't put any thought into what might actually _constitute_ a backroom.

Three dirty, scruffy-looking men were standing inside, two of them bent over the unconscious form of a woman—the first woman that I had seen in the club. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, and there appeared to be a long cut on her right shoulder. The third man was glaring daggers at me, and some hitherto unknown part of my brain realized what they were: _werewolves._ I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"What are you _doing_ , you stupid girl?" an enraged voice hissed from behind me. I was yanked backwards none too gently and whirled around to see Will glaring down at me: his eyes were sparking with rage and his teeth were bared. I had never seen anybody so angry before, especially at me, and I shrunk backwards.

"Will—stop—you're hurting me!" I cried, but he didn't loosen his grip.

"If one of the werewolves had discovered what you were, you would be _torn to pieces_ and we would be exposed, _"_ he growled, shaking me as if I were a rag doll with every word. It was terrifying: I was beginning to lose feeling in my right arm and my entire body was frozen. Would he slap me?

Gulping, I whispered, "I didn't _mean_ to! I'm scared of spiders and I had to get away—"

"You're scared of spiders," he repeated, his voice dripping with disgust. "You are training to fight demons and you cannot handle a damned _spider?_ This is not some game that you can escape whenever you wish. If you're not careful you are going to get us all killed."

"I…" But I trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. I knew I couldn't protest that he had been the one who had dragged me here in the first place; my words would surely fall on deaf ears. Now there was no trace of the Will who had almost been _joking_ with me in my room or who had been in the training room that first day. He was glaring down at me with absolute and utter hatred, and I felt my throat begin to choke up.

"What's going on?" asked a mild voice, and Jem appeared in the now-empty hallway. The chattering group blocking the exit had disappeared, and there were no signs of the blond man.

"Abigail is just proving how much of an idiot she really is," Will said through clenched teeth. He let go of my arm and stalked away.

Jem, at least, looked sympathetic; he reached out his hand to me and I took it, allowing him to lead me back through the main part of the club and then outside. I paused on the street, taking great gasps of air, dirty though it still was. I could feel the beginnings of tears on my face. "I'm sorry," I said; Will had by now entirely vanished. "I just…I couldn't help it."

"It's not your fault, Abby," he soothed. We began to walk down the street, the few mundanes who were still out gazing right through us, a peculiarity I would have found disconcerting had I not been so upset. "You did nothing wrong. If anything, it's Will's fault for forcing you to come along."

I knew that he was right, but I still had to force myself not to cry. Had I really been thinking I'd improved earlier that morning? Will was right: if I couldn't even face a spider, there was absolutely no way I would be able to face an actual demon.

Jem continued to reassure me all the way back to the carriage, but now I was hardly listening to him. My heart was racing in anticipation of another tirade from Will—but when we climbed inside, the dark-haired boy was pressed up against the very edge of the seat, staring out the window. From what I could see of his face, his expression was still murderous. Jem pointedly sat down between us and I dimly heard Thomas urge the horses on as the carriage began its journey back to the Institute. I didn't even know whether they had gotten the information they needed or not.

Similar to our trip an hour beforehand, none of us spoke, although the atmosphere had changed from cringingly awkward to dark and heavy. Will was still glaring out the window—I was surprised the glass didn't break from the force of his expression—and Jem was fiddling with his cane. I kept my head down, staring at my gloved hands.

The lights in the Institute were all ablaze when the carriage rattled past the front gates, and Will suddenly turned alert. He threw open the door and leapt out of the carriage before it even came to a full stop, pulling his seraph blade out as if expecting a fight. But when Jem and I reached the front doors thirty seconds later, there was no trace of demons or Downworlders—only an irate-looking Charlotte, which was just as terrifying.

"William Herondale," she was saying, her normally caring expression severe. "I cannot believe you brought Abby along with you to the Pandemonium Club—she is untrained and unfit for such a task. What if she had been in danger? Jem, I am no less disappointed in you—I thought you would have been able to talk sense into him."

I couldn't stand her lecturing Jem, who had been nothing but sweet when he ought to blame me too. "Charlotte, it's partly my fault as well," I said, stepping forward. "I shouldn't have gone along with Will's plan."

"Something tells me you had little to no choice in the matter," she said, her voice still hard. She didn't look at me. "Sophie alerted me when she couldn't find Abby before bed. Will, _why_ would you do such a thing?"

"I thought she would be able to blend in with the mundanes," Will said in a hard voice. He paused before adding, "Besides, no one would miss her if she got in trouble, anyway."

This appeared to be the final straw for Charlotte. "Go into the study—I will speak with you shortly." He went, his boots clomping against the floor, and Charlotte finally turned to Jem and I. "Abby, you may retire to bed—Sophie is waiting for you. Jem, follow me and we will administer some more of the drug; you are not looking very well." For the first time, I noticed she was right: in the bright light that was no longer obscured by heavy smoke, I noticed that his pupils were wide and his hands were trembling slightly.

I began to head toward the stairs, barely managing to smile back at Jem's "Good night". Behind me, Charlotte was asking about the dagger's origins, and I dimly heard Jem say something about the 'Dark Sisters', although I had no idea what he meant by that. As I passed the study, I saw that Will was leaning over the desk, his hands spread wide on the table as if he was bracing himself from something. I slowed my pace, wondering if I should say something to try to alleviate the tension—but then he looked up at me, his bright blue eyes narrowed, and I quickly hurried away.


	8. Eight

**I** wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up the next morning, other than the fact that the sun streaming through the window was very bright indeed. It took me all of three seconds to realize that the light burning my eyes was _sunlight_ , actual _sunlight_. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt anything more than the sun's weak glare through the clouds, and eagerly threw the blankets away from me, rushing over to the window and throwing it open. The street outside, which had always seemed gloomy and forbidding to me in the constant cloud cover, now seemed merry and cheerful. I had almost forgotten what precise shade of blue the sky was, and found myself grinning as I stared up at it, just basking in its warmth. Living in California all my life, I had always taken the sun for granted until now.

Sophie knocked on the door then, and I rushed to open it, smiling widely at her. "Good morning, miss," she said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Much better than I expected," I told her. It was the truth: I'd been expecting that my dreams would be plagued with the blond man in the Pandemonium Club and Will's anger, but surprisingly I had had a dreamless sleep.

She smiled genuinely at me, and I wondered how she would even see reason to be jealous of Jem and I when she was so beautiful. He would never look twice at me when _she_ was in the room. Even with the scar, she was far lovelier than I could ever hope to be. "I am sorry for telling Charlotte last night," she began after I had sat down and she began drawing a brush through my hair. "But you were not anywhere to be found and I was worried that you were lost."

"You were worried?" I asked with a slight tone of surprise.

"Yes, of course," Sophie assured me, pausing for a moment. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, both of us frowning. "Why wouldn't I be?"

 _Because Jessamine told me that you were jealous that Jem and I were spending so much time together_ , I thought, but quickly shook my head. "Never mind."

* * *

It was well after noon by the time I found myself in the kitchen, begging Agatha for some food. At first she simply wagged a finger at me, telling me that it would teach me a lesson so I wouldn't sleep in for so long, but after a while I finally wore her down and she gave me a platter of sausages before banishing me from the room (I suspected that it had been more to do with the fact I was annoying her while she was trying to prepare dinner rather than my brilliant persuasive skills).

No one was present in the dining-hall, and I was just enjoying some peace and quiet when the doors opened and Charlotte bustled in. "Oh, there you are, Abby," she said, visibly relieved. "I was worried you had gone off with Will again…"

"I don't think that's going to happen for a while," I told her. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He went with Thomas and Henry to investigate the Dark Sisters' house," Charlotte explained. "Judging by what the boys found out last night, they are deeply involved with the Pandemonium Club. The Dark Sisters are a pair of warlocks who live in a house in the East End—or at least that's what Jem told me." She sighed, sitting down at the table across from me. "Abby," she began, "Did you and Will argue last night?"

I hesitated, wondering if I should tell her truth, before convincing myself that it was _Charlotte,_ after all. She wouldn't let anyone know how upset I was about it. I slowly nodded before launching into an explanation of the spider I had seen, nearly running straight into a room full of werewolves, and Will's antagonism toward me.

Charlotte listened patiently, folding her hands in front of her and tilting her head slightly to the side. When I was finished, she nodded in agreement, looking grim. "Will is…he's difficult," she relented. "I don't want you to take anything he says personally, Abby, or feel that he's biased against you in any way. He acts like this to everyone, and sometimes I wonder if he doesn't want to hurt people in the worst possible way. He can be a real nightmare, but there's more to him than meets the eye."

I remembered what Jem had said about Will telling Charlotte that he didn't want to see his parents. "Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I understand what you mean. Don't worry—I'll stay away from him."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean for you to stay away from him," answered Charlotte. "I don't want you to feel threatened by him—that's the _last_ thing he needs. I'm just advising you to tread cautiously. Feel free to speak to him however you like; I gave Sophie free reign to say what she pleases."

A small grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. "I think I'd rather stay as far away as possible from him, actually."

"That might be more difficult to do than you think," Charlotte replied.

Thinking of his sudden appearance in my room the night before, I muttered, "Unfortunately, I know exactly what you mean," and we laughed together, the tension broken. Charlotte looked relieved as she stood up, and I wondered if she had thought I had been bothered by the argument with Will. Of course I was hurt by it, but she seemed to be operating under the assumption that I actually _liked_ Will and wanted to be friends with him. As it was, however, I had always strongly disliked him, and found that his ignoring me could work to my advantage.

I was so busy contemplating this new train of thought that I had almost forgotten a question I'd been wanting to ask. "Hey, Charlotte?" I called, momentarily forgetting about using "proper" Victorian speech. She turned around expectantly, still smiling warmly at me, and I asked, "Is Jem in the training room? You didn't say that he'd gone with Will and Henry."

A cloud seemed to cross her features at my words, and she replied, "Jem isn't feeling very well today—I think the ordeal last night exhausted him."

"Oh," I said softly, disappointed; he had never taken a day off before, and I assumed that it was even rarer he wouldn't accompany Will on an investigation. Charlotte, sensing my unhappiness, added, "I'm sure he'll be fine by tomorrow—he's just rather tired."

I nodded but finished my breakfast in glum silence, remembering the dark shadows under his eyes and slow movements the night before. What was I supposed to do, then? It was no fun walking around London without someone to talk to, and although I had used to love taking solitary walks around San Francisco, the novelty was lost in this time. I had read the _Codex_ back to front and it felt like I had memorized all the illustrations as well, so I guessed I could return it to the library and find another book…God, what I had done for fun back home? Watching TV, I guessed, or going shopping, or spending time with what few friends I had…I felt a stab of guilt for not missing them nearly as much as I probably should have. I had always been a bit of a loner at school, never forming close attachments with anyone. My mother had been my best friend, as lame as that sounded. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd been invited to a sleepover, and all of them had culminated in the others gossiping about boys or painting each other's nails or playing Truth and Dare—nothing that I was particularly interested in.

When I left the dining-hall on the way back to my room, I nearly collided with Agatha, who was carrying a tray laden with food out of the kitchen. "Sorry!" I apologized, grabbing the glass of water before it could spill onto the floor. "I should have been watching where I was going."

"Ay, don't worry about it, lass," she replied in her thick Scottish accent. "Mr Herondale did mention that you were very clumsy." I blushed furiously, wondering what _else_ he had said about me. "Would you be passing by Mr Carstairs's room by any chance?"

"Yes, it's right across the hall from mine," I said, wondering idly if I should have said 'corridor' instead.

"Then do you mind giving him his breakfast?" Agatha asked, pushing the tray into my hands. "Sophie usually tends to him when he is ill, but I cannot find her anywhere."

Part of me felt bad for taking Sophie's job, especially when I knew of her fondness for Jem, but the other part couldn't help but feel selfishly, stupidly glad that I was able to see him. I immediately chastised myself for being so excited—I had no reason to, after all. I was just bringing him breakfast.

Hoping that Sophie wouldn't spot me, I thanked Agatha—possibly more fervently than I should have—and hurried upstairs, trying not to drop the tray. I didn't want to give Will _another_ reason to mock me, especially since he had supposedly already complained about my clumsiness.

When I reached Jem's door, I took a deep breath to calm myself before gently knocking on it. _What's gotten into you, Abby?_ I thought crossly. _It's just Jem! There's no need to be nervous!_

"Come in," his quiet voice called. I hesitantly pushed open the door and stepped into his dark, shadowy room—the curtains were still closed, betraying nothing of the beautiful day outside. Jem was still in bed, his silver hair visible in the dark, but it looked disarrayed and plastered to his forehead, as if he had been tossing and turning all night.

I could see the dim outline of a witchlight stone on his bedside table, and as I started toward it, Jem coughed and asked, "Sophie?"

I froze; what if he had actually wanted Sophie and would be disappointed to see me? "No—it's just me," I replied. "I'm just bringing you some food. Agatha said she was looking for Sophie and she couldn't find her so she asked me instead. I can get her though, if you want—"

"Abby, it's perfectly all right," Jem said, but there was a strange tone to his voice that sounded almost like embarrassment. He sat up in bed just as I placed the tray on the table and picked up the witchlight. It flared up instantly, illuminating the room with an eerie blue light. "I was just expecting Sophie; she is usually the only one who visits me when I am…like this."

I grabbed the chair from the table and pulled it up next to his bed, closing my fingers over the witchlight so that my hand glowed blue. "I would expect that you don't want visitors, then, especially if you're trying to sleep."

Jem looked surprised; I noticed that there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there when I'd entered the room. "No, of course not! It's quite the opposite, in fact. Most times I am…quite bored, to tell the truth. I could certainly use the company." He smiled at me, and, grinning back, I felt my heart stutter.

It was that precise moment when I first realized I was developing feelings for Jem Carstairs. The thought had briefly crossed my mind in the carriage, when he'd tied up my dress, but I had dismissed the possibility—or rather, denied it. We'd only known each other for two weeks, after all.

And yet…I recognized the telltale signs: my sudden shyness around him, the way my heart pounded faster when I was near him, my desire to touch his hand in the carriage... _it's just a crush, Abby,_ I tried to tell myself. _There is no way this could work out for so many reasons. His illness, for starters. And you being from the future is a major stumbling block as well. Not to mention the fact that you're more likely to invent the Portal yourself than Jem liking you back._

But that didn't stop my hands from breaking out in a cold sweat as I stared numbly down at him. It had been coming on like an illness, I realized, for days. I just hadn't been paying attention…the incident in the carriage was the catalyst, and today I was being forced to confront it head-on. I hadn't had a crush in years, and I suddenly felt fourteen again, afraid to speak to the boy she liked.

I could stop it, though. If I told myself over and over again that it was impossible, that there was no point in even trying, I would certainly be able to stop the feelings. Better that I discovered it this early on before it was too late, like the heroines in tragic romances always did—poor souls. I would be saving myself a world of pain.

And, of course, if it _had_ to happen, it was better Jem than Will,I thought cynically. Now _that_ would be devastating. I might as well have thrown myself in the path of a moving train and it would have been less painful.

Meanwhile, I hadn't realized that my smile had faltered, and Jem was now looking concerned. "Abby?" he asked curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" I almost shouted, quickly snapping back to attention. "It's great." _He's just a friend,_ I kept repeating to myself like a mantra. _Just a friend, just a friend, just a friend._ As it often happened, however, the words gradually began to lose their meaning after I'd thought them too many times, and I sighed, forcing a smile. "I was just thinking about…training."

It occurred to me, too late, that Jem would blame himself for my melancholy mood. "I almost forgot about that," he groaned quietly, pressing the palms of his hand to his eyes. "I am very sorry, Abby. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you—"

Okay, so this conversation was _not_ going well. My thoughts were scattered in a million different directions as if someone had thrown them to the wind and let them fly where they pleased. "Don't apologize for being under the weather. I'll survive without it for a day."

"Under the weather?" he asked, amused at yet another one of my odd sayings. At least he looked like he had cheered up a bit; he settled up so that he could look me directly in the eyes, which somehow made my heart flop over in my chest. "Sometimes it slips my mind that you are from the future until you say or do something very peculiar…"

I wrinkled my nose. "Peculiar?"

Jem suddenly looked startled. "No—I didn't mean it like that," he hastily apologized. "I meant…endearing. It's quite entertaining." I laughed, and he slumped back onto the pillow, looking everywhere but at me.

Why did he seem to be just as flustered as me today? "Something else is on your mind," I prodded gently, and finally his gaze snapped up to meet mine, his silvery eyes now looking a bit sheepish. "What is it?"

"It's…it's just…I'm…" I raised my eyebrows in expectation, and he let out a sigh, absent-mindedly fiddling with the blankets as if he was imagining holding his cane or violin. "I'm worried about Will," he confessed.

Ah. That explained it. "You know, Jem, I'm hardly an expert on him, but I don't think you need to be worried about him in the least."

"No, something has changed," Jem mused, his eyes taking on a faraway quality. "He is acting different."

"Because of me?"

Jem shook his head and I tried to disguise my relief. "It began even before you arrived here, when we first found that mundane girl. It is giving him a…a _purpose_ , almost. He is thrilled that he has investigate and put himself in the line of danger. Will has always been happiest when his life is on the line. Sometimes I wonder if…" he trailed off, and I finished the sentence for him: "If he _wants_ to die."

"Yes," Jem breathed, and closed his eyes. "And dying is not a pleasant ordeal."

The air was thick with tension, and I could sense Jem's vulnerability in speaking to me about this. He knew, certainly, that he would die some day in the not-too-distant future—my stomach gave a tiny, painful jolt when I thought this—and that although he had known all along that Will would be the one forced to watch, he was now suddenly faced with the prospect of Will dying—or _wanting_ to die, which I supposed was equally horrible. I didn't like Will in the least, but I certainly didn't want him to die. "He wouldn't try it," I tried to reassure him, even though I had absolutely no idea about what he would or wouldn't try. "He's not going to leave you."

"Maybe not now," said Jem, who still hadn't opened his eyes, "But someday, after I—"

"You can't think like that, Jem," I said furiously. "There is always hope."

"Not for me," he said, and I was reminded of the time he had told me he would never marry. "Abby, I have accepted my death a long time ago. I am worried, however, about what I will leave behind." Jem finally opened his eyes and I quickly looked away, sitting back in the chair and wondering if he felt as uncomfortable as I did.

"You still have time," I told him firmly. "Jem, I can't help you. I—" A choked sob slipped out as I thought about my current situation—the terrible reality of it always enveloped me at the worst times. "I can't help you when I can't even help myself."

"What do you mean?" Jem asked, all talk of Will suddenly banished. Now he was leaning forward, concern written all over his face.

I blinked, fully intending to turn the conversation back to the original topic—he must think me selfish, changing the subject to myself!—but the words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. "I don't know why I'm going along with all this—this Shadowhunter business. Okay, I get the 'when in Rome' aspect of the whole thing, but I feel like it's being taken a bit too far. I feel like…like when I get back home," I forced myself to say 'when', not 'if'—"I won't be able to suddenly give it up. But I promised my mother that I would never become a Shadowhunter, or tell anyone that my father had been one. I just want a normal mundane life, don't you see?" I shifted in my chair, agitated. "I want to grow up normally, with no fear of demons or vampires or werewolves, and I want a nine to five job and to marry a nice, _normal_ man and then one day have two point five kids and take them on vacation to Disney World every year, and then die when I'm eighty and feel as if I've lived a mundane yet normal life."

There was a ringing silence. I realized, belatedly, that Jem would not have understood a word I was saying. "I guess what I mean is…I don't want this life," I added, unable to meet his gaze.

"Abby," he began after a long moment, "I know how you feel. You felt as if you had some semblance of happiness, of normality, before something happened to toss it all away, and now you feel as if you're floating, completely directionless. But...you can be happier if you choose to realize that, for whatever reason, your life is _not_ going to go in the way you envisioned it, and maybe…just maybe…something wonderful can come out of it."

 _I see that you were content living a mundane life, but it appears it is not in your destiny,_ Brother Enoch had said. I thought of the boy lying in front of me, the boy who had lost so much and who was still losing, even now. If _anyone_ had the right to be angry, to throw back the cards that life had dealt him, it was Jem. But instead of being enveloped by hatred and resentment, like Will, he had chosen to see life in a different way, to be as happy as he could while he had the chance. I let out a long breath, ruffling my hair, and forced myself to nod. "I suppose you're right," I said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm just making myself feel even worse."

Jem reached out and put his hand over mine, the one that was still clutching the witchlight, so that the blue glow was almost dimmed completely. My heart skipped a beat and then began to pound in earnest as I felt the warmth of his hand over mine, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin. I had been abruptly jerked from my melancholy mood to the present, where the only thing I could think of was Jem.

Sometimes having a crush wasn't so bad.

Then again, it was just a reassuring touch, similar to how Charlotte would put her hand on my shoulder or my mother would kiss my forehead when I was little. There was nothing romantic about it all.

"Abby, I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about it with—" he began, but before he could finish the door burst open and Will strode in, holding a witchlight of his own. My head spun around, my mouth slightly agape, as I took in his appearance: his clothes was ripped and torn and a cut on his shoulder looked like it was bleeding quite badly. He was still holding his seraph blade and he had bruises all over his face and arms, but there was an almost feverish spark in his eyes I had never seen before.

"Will!" Jem said, alarmed. He pulled his hand away from mine, and the spell was broken. "What on earth happened today? You look awful."

"The investigation turned out to be much more interesting than I expected," Will said triumphantly. "By the Angel, it's rather dark in here, isn't it?" He strode to the window and threw open the curtains, causing both Jem and I to shield our eyes as the sun nearly blinded both of us. Turning back to us, he announced, slightly mockingly, "I always seem to catch you two in the strangest of situations."

I didn't dare to respond, remembering his furious rage the previous night, but there was no hatred in his eyes when he looked at me; whatever had happened at the Dark Sisters' appeared to have overshadowed everything else. Still, I wasn't going to press my luck, and I didn't particularly care for whatever he was going to say next—he'd probably just killed a demon or two and was going to recount it in detail. I stood up and headed toward the door, flashing a parting smile at Jem. Will raised his hand toward me in what I imagined was a sarcastic sort of wave before taking the chair I had just vacated, beginning to explain something in earnest to Jem, gesticulating wildly. I slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind me, pausing only to frown at the closed door next to my own room: it had always been vacant, and now I could hear faint voices whispering inside of it. Perhaps Thomas had finally cornered Sophie.

Ah… _Sophie._ I felt a pang of guilt as I remembered the longing in her eyes whenever she looked at Jem. No wonder I had been secretly pleased that he didn't return her feelings. Of course I didn't blame her for fancying Jem…any girl in her right mind would fancy him. Well, except maybe Jessamine…but then again, she certainly _wasn't_ in her right mind, so she didn't count. Still…Sophie had a much better chance with Jem than I did—they'd known each other for longer _and_ she was gorgeous—not to mention the fact that they were from the same time period. The fact that I was over a hundred years younger than Jem, despite the fact that we were technically close in age here, would eventually put him off somewhat. At least, if he ever considered me in that way. Which he never would.

 _Stop overthinking things, Abby,_ I told myself, flopping down onto my bed. In fact, I should stop thinking about Jem at all. It was time to put an end to this little crush and stop it before it even started. Yes, that would be for the best. From now on, I would consider Jem as a friend, nothing more.

_Why are you still thinking about him?!_

I grabbed my pillow, pulled it over my face, and let out a muffled scream.

* * *

Sophie didn't fetch me for dinner that night—in fact, it was nearly seven and she still hadn't showed up. The sun was just beginning to set over London, bathing the street in beautiful pink and golden and orange hues. I was standing next to the window, enjoying the last glimpse of sun before what would yet be another dull and dreary day, wondering what was taking her so long. Perhaps it had something to do with her disappearance at lunch. My stomach growled in spite of myself, and I sighed, loosening my corset. "Bloody nuisance," I muttered in my best impression of an English accent.

It took me five minutes before I came to the conclusion that I was being absolutely ridiculous: here I was, waiting for my _ladies' maid_ to call me for dinner! If that wasn't the height of silliness, what was? Sometimes I wondered if I would be sent straight into an asylum when I got back to the future. Maybe it would turn out that I had taken a spectacularly potent drug and I was actually in the hospital right now, having hallucinated the past two weeks. That would certainly explain a lot.

By now I was too hungry to change into my more comfortable training gear and so decided to go down to supper on my own. Jem's door was still closed, and, to my surprise, so was the door of the room next to mine. I paused in front of it, wondering if I would be able to hear the voices again, but it was silent. Shrugging to myself, I distracted myself with the possibility of dinner and hurried down the staircase, nearly bumping into Sophie on my way down. "Miss Cartwright, I apologize for not fetching you beforehand," Sophie apologized when I had righted myself, "But Mrs Branwell has asked for my assistance in helping Miss Gray prepare for supper."

"Miss Gray?" I asked confusedly. As large as the Institute was, I'd always believed I had met everyone currently residing there, but I supposed there was always a chance there had been someone locked up all along…

Interrupting my suddenly overactive imagination, Sophie frowned at me. "You mean Mr Herondale has not told you?" she asked. "Mrs Branwell instructed him to, but I suppose if he hasn't…during the investigation of the Dark House, he found a prisoner the Dark Sisters were keeping locked up in one of the rooms. Her name is Theresa Gray, and she is American like yourself. Brother Enoch believes she is a warlock, although she has no markings."

I couldn't hide my interest at the prospect of a new _female_ friend. "Why were they keeping her locked up?"

Sophie shook her head. "No one knows as of yet. She is a shapeshifter, but had no idea of her true identity until very recently. She says her family were mundanes, at least to her knowledge."

"A shapeshifter," I breathed. It sounded exciting, but I couldn't deny the fact that I was relieved I wasn't the only unusual one at the Institute. "So she's coming down to dinner, then?"

"Yes. I am to bring her this dress," Sophie indicated the bundle of red velvet material in her arms, no doubt borrowed from Jessamine, "And bring her downstairs. Can you inform the others that we should be arriving very shortly?"

I nodded and nearly ran down to the dining-hall, happy that I wasn't the only oddity at the Institute anymore. Will and Jessamine were sitting at the table, and I felt a sharp jolt of disappointment that Jem wasn't there, although I hadn't expected him to be. Blowing my hair out of my face, I took my usual seat and grabbed a roll, too hungry to wait for the others.

"So, future girl," Will said easily, as if the night at the Pandemonium Club hadn't occurred, "Has Sophie told you about the new arrival yet?"

I lowered my roll and raised one eyebrow at him. "She said that _you_ were supposed to tell me, but yes, she did."

"I would have if you hadn't bolted out of Jem's room like a scared cat," Will replied, looking amused. "Did she inform you that Miss Gray is from New York, but came to England to live with her brother Nathaniel and claims that she was being chased by the Magister?"

 _Nathaniel…_ the name sounded familiar to me, although I couldn't quite place where. If Theresa was American, then her brother was surely American as well…and if they had ties to the Pandemonium Club…the blond man I had spoken to the previous night had been American, and he had said his name was Nat-something…could that perhaps be Nathaniel? "I know this might be a bit of a stretch," I began slowly, noting a spark of interest in Will's eyes, "But—"

The dining-hall doors swung open, preventing me from finishing my sentence, and Will's head instantly snapped around to see the new arrival, a girl whom I didn't recognize. Jessamine and I turned as well, she looking a great deal less interested than I was.

But my heart sank when I saw Theresa and her tall, skinny build; she looked almost regal. She was pretty, but not stunningly beautiful in the way Jessamine was-her nose was slightly pointed and her hair was a dull brown, but she was still much better-looking than I was.

Mom had always told me that I looked exactly like my father, but having his features didn't translate over well to a girl. He had been very handsome, but it didn't suit me: my forehead was too wide, my jaw too square, to have the delicate quality that both Theresa and Jessamine possessed. My eyes were too round, my eyebrows too bushy—it would have been a complete and total disaster if I'd had glasses—and I couldn't blame Will for not finding any redeeming qualities in my appearance, since there were none. The boys had been right when they had called me ugly at school. While both Jessamine and Theresa were small-boned and statuesque, I was shorter and stockier. I'd never been _overweight_ , per se, but, again, having a layer of muscle with facial features that were better suited on a man didn't contribute to an overall attractive look.

While I despaired over my appearance, Charlotte appeared in the doorway behind Theresa. "Will, you remember Miss Gray?" she asked.

"My recollection of her is most vivid indeed," Will replied, and grinned at the new girl, who looked alarmed and was quick to glance away. I scowled; why was it he was able to grin so amiably at her while I could barely get an insolent smirk out of him?

Meanwhile, Charlotte was introducing Jessamine, who made a vague greeting while studiously ignoring Theresa. At least I knew her resentment of me was nothing personal. "And Miss Gray, this is Miss Abigail Cartwright," she said, turning to me. I met the new girl's gaze and did my best to make my smile as warm as possible, remembering how I'd felt when I had first arrived at the Institute. "She is American as well."

Theresa looked interested and, after a quick glance at Charlotte, sat down next to me. Her gaze was curiously intense, but I forced myself to hold it. "Which part of America are you from?" she asked quietly; her accent was a welcome relief from the constant barrage of British accents I had to decipher every day.

"San Francisco," I replied. "Will told me you are from New York?"

Her eyes widened slightly but she nodded; I saw her gaze slide over to Will, who was asking Charlotte about Henry. When she turned back to me, I said, "Call me Abby—everyone does. I'm only called Abigail when I'm in trouble."

Theresa paused, considering her next words, before saying, "Then you may call me Tessa—I already told Charlotte to refer to me as such."

"Tessa," I repeated. "That's, er, that's a nice name," and we shared another hesitant smile. I sensed that she was just as shy as I was, and hoped that she wouldn't interpret my silence as rude, like most people did.

It was then that I heard Will saying something about Jem, and I immediately jerked to attention, hoping I didn't look _too_ focused. But the topic had already been changed, and I was forced to stare back down at my dinner, wondering if he was feeling better.

* * *

The remainder of the meal was spent asking Tessa dozens of questions, from how exactly the Dark Sisters had kept her imprisoned (they certainly did not sound very friendly) to how her shapeshifting abilities could be controlled. I was silent for most of it, not wanting to annoy her any more than she already was—I could sense her constant refrain of "I don't know" was fast getting tiresome. It seemed as if she knew little more than we did, except for the fact that the Magister—whoever he was—wished to marry her for some reason. Will and Charlotte both seemed convinced that it had something to do with the Pandemonium Club and there was a bigger plot at work. Personally, I was still too busy trying to think of everything but Jem to concentrate on any one thing they were saying, although I did notice Tessa kept glancing over at Will, as if he was a fallen angel that had suddenly dropped into the middle of the room. I couldn't blame her, but the little detail wherein he loathed me had put me off him for good.

Once, though, Charlotte told Jessamine off for 'playing with' her food, and the other girl sniffed haughtily, glaring down at her plate. I met Will's eyes across the table and we shared a mutual smirk, me internally reeling at this new development. Since when did Will Herondale smirk _with_ me? Shouldn't he be smirking _at_ me?

This gesture was not missed by Tessa, whose wide grey eyes flickered back and forth between the two of us. But before I could assure her that Will was entirely hers, Henry suddenly appeared in the dining-hall with his sleeve on fire and everyone's attention was diverted.

The most exciting development of the evening occurred when Tessa shapeshifted—or, as she called it, Changed—into Jessamine, startling everyone in the room. The poor girl had to endure yet another barrage of questions afterward, and to be honest, I was growing quite bored by the conversation that only seemed to turn back to the question _Why?_ None of us knew who the Magister was, or how the Dark Sisters knew about Tessa's ability, or where her brother was. I opened my mouth more than once to ask Tessa if her brother was blond, but Will or Jessamine would always interrupt me.

When the meal was finally dismissed, I bolted out of my seat and hurried upstairs, realizing too late that I should probably have offered to show Tessa up to her room, as it was right beside mine. But I couldn't go back downstairs now, and anyhow I was too eager to see Jem again. I knocked on his door, excited to tell him about the new developments, and when there was no answer I quietly opened the door and peered inside.

His curtains were open, moonlight shining into the room as it had been the first time he'd played the violin for me; but now he was fast asleep, stretched out across the bed. Smiling to myself, I crept over to him and gently pulled the blanket over him. He moved slightly in his sleep, and yet again I noticed that strange flash of green I often saw on his throat. But now I realized that it was a jade pendant, inscribed with delicate Chinese characters. His hand almost seemed to twitch toward it in his sleep, and I wondered what they meant. It must have been a relic from his life in Shanghai; I wondered if it had belonged to his father or his mother.

By the Angel, I wasn't supposed to be thinking like this! Why I had just _tucked him in_ to bed? I shouldn't even have come into his room at all. Without a backward glance at him, I stalked away from him and shut the door behind me, exhaling loudly once I was safely in the hallway. "Friends," I said aloud. _Just friends._

"If you say so," someone drawled from behind me, and I whirled around to see Will walking down the hallway, off on whatever nighttime activities he usually partook in. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he simply walked past me with that damn infernal smirk.

I was going to have to think of some new synonyms for _smirk_ very soon, wasn't I?

At least he hadn't known who I'd been talking to, I reasoned with myself, watching him disappear down the corridor before walking across the hall to my room. I could just as easily have been talking to him.

Or at least that was what I told myself.


	9. Nine

**I** woke up in the middle of the night to the mournful, haunting sound of Jem's violin. The music, as always, sent shivers through me, and I lay awake for what felt like hours, staring at the dark ceiling and letting my mind go blank. His music moved me in a way no other song had done before, and I was sure that I wouldn't have been as affected if it had been any other violinist, even a world-class one. I pictured Jem's slim fingers moving effortlessly across the bow, wringing the melancholy notes out of the instrument, and that slight frown he had as he concentrated on the music. It took me at least ten minutes before I remembered that I wasn't supposed to be thinking about him, and I angrily turned over in bed and pummelled my pillow into a more comfortable position. I'd never been this obsessed with a boy before—I'd never lie awake thinking of them, and I most certainly wouldn't daydream about them when they weren't in the room. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that I'd never been as close with any boy as I was with Jem…but then again, they did say that the sweetest love was the forbidden one.

Almost as soon as I came to this realization, the music abruptly cut off, the note dying away into silence, and I half-sat up in concern, wondering if he was ill or had merely fallen asleep again. But just as I was debating whether or not to go over to him, I heard quiet voices drifting across the hallway. I recognized Jem's at once, and then the answering murmur of the new girl. Tessa. Of course—her room was close to his as well.

Something stirred up inside me then, a hot surge of anger mixed with pain. _Get a grip on yourself!_ I thought as soon as I recognized that it was jealousy. _Tessa has the right to speak to whoever she wants. That doesn't mean that they're making out or anything. You're overreacting as usual. Besides, you and Jem are Just Friends. You don't belong in this time and place, and he's going to die soon. This ship is going to sink before it even sets sail._

Blocking out the sound of Jem and Tessa talking, I settled back into bed, still feeling jealous and sick at heart and hating the entire world. Why couldn't I be normal? I'd just realized that I had a crush on Jem twelve hours ago; I wasn't supposed to be insanely jealous just because he was speaking to another girl. Besides, sitting in Jem's room while he played the violin was something I always thought of as _my_ pastime. Perhaps I had been stupid enough to believe that he had done it because of me.

Mom, of course, would go into full psychologist mode and say that I was so insecure about myself that I was secretly afraid that Jem would find Tessa more interesting than me and would become close with her instead. _By the Angel,_ I thought, _She's still right even_ _sixty-five years before she was born._

I consoled myself for the rest of the night with the thought that at least I might find another boy like Jem in the future.

* * *

Sophie knocked on my door late the next morning; I hadn't managed to fall asleep until dawn and had hoped that Charlotte would permit me to stay in bed that day. Unfortunately, as I groaned and pulled the pillow back over my head, Sophie was already laying my dress on the bed and opening the curtains. "Did you sleep well, miss?" she asked, seeming oblivious to my disheveled state.

For a moment, I wondered if she was joking, before my muddled brain managed to remember those were her first words to me every morning. I made a noncommittal sigh in response but finally admitted defeat, knowing that she would send Charlotte upstairs if I didn't comply. Reluctantly dragging myself out of bed, I went over to the washstand and splashed cold water on my face, deliberately avoiding looking at my face in the mirror. As I turned back to Sophie, I wondered with a slightly guilty twinge if my jealousy at hearing Jem and Tessa talking was the same jealousy she felt whenever she saw Jem and I together. I wanted to give her a sympathetic smile, but knew that she would vehemently deny her feelings for him if word got out.

But honestly, it would have seemed strange to an outsider that both Sophie and I fancied Jem instead of Will, which would admittedly have been more understandable. Will was incredibly good-looking, and his mysterious, brooding charm was surely something that would make any girl fall deeply in love with him. Jem had an ethereal beauty to him in a way that was completely different from Will's, and did not command attention in the same way that his _parabatai_ did. Not for the first time, I wondered whether Tessa had noticed this dichotomy and, if she had, which one she was more drawn towards. She had certainly been staring at Will often enough at dinner…but she'd had a hushed, eager tone of voice when she'd been speaking to Jem.

And there I went again, overanalyzing everything. My distress must have shown plainly on my face, for Sophie stopped lacing up the back of my dress and looked concernedly at me. "Is everything all right, miss?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," I lied. "I just had a bad dream. Look, Sophie, could you please call me Abby? I'm not used to all these formalities."

The other girl smiled at me, and this time I did sense a hint of teasing in her voice when she replied, "As you wish, miss."

* * *

Everyone else was already eating breakfast when I reached the dining-hall—except for Jem, who was again conspicuously absent. Tessa gave me a shy smile when I sat down next to her, and I couldn't help but smile back. There was something about her that was impossible to dislike, an endearing quality to her face. Perhaps it was her wide eyes—they weren't childlike, exactly, but they were open and easy to read. Anyone who was still able to trust again after having been imprisoned for six weeks earned respect in my books, and Tessa had gone through an even worse ordeal than I had.

As I dug into breakfast, Charlotte announced, "Will, today I'd like you to revisit the site of the Dark Sisters' house; it's abandoned now, but it's still worth a final search. And I want you to take Jem with you—"

Will slowly put his fork down; there was no trace of amusement at all in his face. "Is he well enough?" he asked, a question that had immediately come to my mind as well.

"He is quite well enough," said a mild voice from the door, and my heart pounded ridiculously at the sound of Jem's voice. "In fact, he's ready when you are."

Not wanting to appear overeager, I studiously avoided looking at him, although I could tell from the corner of my eye that he was wearing his bright red waistcoat—his favourite colour. _Now is not the time, Abby,_ a voice chided in my head that sounded suspiciously like my mother's.

"You should have some breakfast first," Charlotte encouraged, pushing the plate of bacon toward him. Jem obediently sat down and smiled across the table at Tessa, which sent my insides into another frenzy of jealousy. "Oh, Jem—this is Miss Gray. She's—"

"We've met," Jem replied, and I saw the faintest hint of a blush cross Tessa's face. I was struck with the childish urge to stand up and stalk out of the room, but as it was, I bit my bottom lip as hard as I could and concentrated on pushing my food around with my fork. My eyes briefly met Will's across the table, and in that instant I saw my expression mirrored in his. It was as if we understood each other perfectly for a brief second, and I quickly looked away, inwardly marveling. Could Will possibly be _attracted_ to Tessa? Had something gone on in the Dark Sisters' house that I didn't know about? Well, if that was the case, then I wished her all the luck—she would certainly need it.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I barely noticed that the others had stopped talking and were all staring at me. "Abby?" Charlotte asked. "Have you been listening?"

"Well—er—no," I admitted, pushing my plate away from me and blushing slightly. Will let out a not-so-subtle laugh, and I kept my gaze firmly on the tabletop.

"You may choose where you want to go today," Charlotte explained, firmly but kindly. "You can investigate the Dark Sisters' house with Will and Jem, or you can go dress shopping with Tessa and Jessamine."

Neither of those options sounded particularly appealing: I shied away at the thought of spending any length of time with Will, and despite the fact that I would be with Jem and it would be my first "real" mission, so to speak, I feared I would somehow get into danger. But I'd also promised myself that I would never go anywhere with Jessamine ever again…

I glanced around the table: Charlotte looked expectant, Henry looked as if he hadn't even heard the question, Jessamine looked haughty, Will looked indifferent—I imagined Jem looked hopeful, although of course I couldn't tell for sure—and though Tessa's expression was merely curious, I thought she looked imploring. Leaving Tessa to go dress shopping with Jessamine was akin to throwing a lamb into a pit of particularly hungry lions. "I'll go with Tessa and Jessamine," I finally said, giving Jem what I hoped was an apologetic look. His face had fallen slightly, and the disappointment gave me a savage pleasure.

"That's settled, then," Charlotte replied, sitting back in her chair. "I'll send the carriage around with Thomas."

* * *

An hour later, I found myself standing in a dressmaker's shop with Jessamine yet again while she paraded around trying on outfits, but at least this time I wasn't forced to endure her haughty remarks alone. Tessa had been quiet for the majority of the carriage ride, and Jessamine boasted enough for all of us, anyway.

To keep my mind off the notion that I'd made the wrong decision, I leaned over and whispered to Tessa, "Shouldn't _you_ be the one trying on dresses?"

She appeared to be struggling to give a diplomatic response before finally giving up and saying, "I suppose I do need to pick one for my funeral."

"Your funeral?" I asked, confused.

"Yes." Grinning in a sly sort of way that inexplicably reminded me of Will, she replied, "I shall run out into the street and throw myself under a carriage to end it all. Surely that will be less painful than this."

I had to clap my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. "I was considering jumping off a roof. Perhaps I'll land in a cemetery—it'll save on the cost of a hearse."

Tessa looked shocked for a moment before she began to laugh as well, and I was sure we looked like two giggling schoolgirls in that moment. My resolve to dislike her had all but vanished, and I found I couldn't hate her as I thought I would. It was unfair to hold a grudge against her just because she talked to Jem. Besides, I had missed this sort of joking with a girl—it made me feel like I was closer to home.

"What are you laughing about?" Jessamine asked rudely as she walked over toward us, crossing her arms. The dressmaker trailed behind her.

"Nothing," I said lamely, although I might as well not have answered because Jessamine didn't so much as glance at me.

"I'm also looking for a few dresses for my cousin from America," she continued, gesturing toward Tessa and pretending I wasn't there. "The clothes there are simply horrible. She's as plain as a pin, which doesn't help, but I'm sure you can do something with her."

I looked sideways at Tessa, wondering if she was hurt by Jessamine's comment, but she just looked resigned, and even slightly exasperated. I had to give it to her: if Jessamine had called me "plain as a pin", I would be struggling not to cry—mind, she had probably said worse many times when I was out of earshot.

At last now it was Tessa's turn to try on dress after dress, and fortunately I managed to slip out of the shop after half an hour, heading back over to the carriage where Thomas was waiting. I politely inquired about the horses, and he struck up an easy conversation with me. I noticed that his eyes lit up every time he spoke of Sophie, and each time he said her name made me feel even worse. I wanted to stop him, to say that Sophie was in love with Jem, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. By the Angel, this was becoming like a bad soap opera. I tried to work it out in my head: Thomas loved Sophie, who loved Jem, who (possibly) was interested in Tessa, who was _definitely_ attracted to Will, who hated me, and I had feelings for Jem. The only people exempt from the confusing mess were Charlotte, Henry, Jessamine, and Agatha, and I suspected each of them had their own problems to deal with. And I'd only been at the Institute for two weeks.

While I was inwardly despairing at the mess I had been subjected to, the shop door tinkled from behind me and Jessamine and Tessa came back out, each carrying an armful of bags. Jessamine was talking to Tessa with something akin to excitement in her voice. "…It's such a lovely day, and you've hardly seen anything of London!" she exclaimed. "I think a walk in Hyde Park is in order. And after that, we could go to Gunter's and have Thomas get ices for us!"

I wanted to go back to the Institute and see if Jem was back yet, but there was no way I had any authority over Jessamine. Thomas seemed willing enough to drive us wherever we wanted to go, and Tessa's eyes met mine across the road, raising her eyebrows slightly as if silently asking me what to do. I gave a tiny shrug in response, and she turned to Jessamine and said, "I adore parks."

That was the first time I'd seen Jessamine smile, and the sight was almost enough to make the delay to the Institute worth it. Almost.

* * *

Alas, my temporary tolerance of dear Jessie was not to last, as she began to rant about the other members of the Institute almost as soon as we entered the park. Tessa and I exchanged yet another conspiratorial glance; I sensed that this would be a friendship based on body language rather than words. "Henry wanted access to the Institute so he could work on his little experiments in the cellar and not have to fight. And I don't think he _minded_ marrying Charlotte—I don't think there was anyone else he wanted to marry—but if someone else had been running the Institute, he would have married them instead."

I wanted to believe that this wasn't true, that Henry and Charlotte were deeply in love and it had just been a bonus that Henry had access to the Institute, but I had to admit that nothing I'd seen of their interactions toward each other gave proof to my belief. Jessamine's words stung, but they were most likely true.

"And then there's the boys—Will and Jem," she continued haughtily; I immediately snapped out of my thoughts about how to bring Henry and Charlotte closer together. "Jem's pleasant enough, but you know how foreigners are. Not really trustworthy and basically selfish and lazy. He's always in his room, pretending to be ill, refusing to do anything to help anyone out."

"That's not true!" I said hotly, startling even myself. "He can't help being ill and you know it. Besides, he does a lot more to help out than _you_."

I had never spoken so rudely to anyone before, and my hand clapped over my mouth as soon as I realized what I'd said. Both girls were staring at me; Jessamine flipped her hair back, smirked, and said, "Ignore her, Tessa. She's head over heels for Jem—don't believe a word of what she says."

"What?" I spluttered. "How do you know that? I mean—what makes you think that?" I could feel my face turning hot, and I wished Tessa's gaze wasn't so intense.

"Oh, please," Jessamine snorted. "Your little fancy is even more obvious than Sophie's is. Whenever he walks into the room you look at him as if he's the only man in the world. It's been like that since the first day you arrived here."

I opened my mouth, searching for something equally as insulting to say back, but Tessa hurriedly placed herself between us, interrupting with, "What about Will?"

" _Will_ ," Jessamine snorted, shaking her head; I was half-annoyed, half-grateful to Tessa for changing the topic. "He's handsome enough, but behaves like a lunatic half the time; it's as if he were brought up by savages. He has no respect for anyone and anything, no concept of the way a gentleman is supposed to behave. I suppose it's because he's Welsh."

The disdain in her voice made it obvious that being Welsh was not a compliment in her opinion, and I dimly remembered my mother telling me once that Dad had ancestors from Wales. I wondered if I should be offended at her condescension, or feel even prouder of my heritage—after all, Wales couldn't be so horrible if Jessamine disliked it.

At any rate, my attention was again caught by a tickling on my foot. I glanced down, my eyes widening in horror when I saw a large brown spider on my shoe. To make matters worse, I could have sworn that it was the exact same spider I'd seen at the Pandemonium Club and in the motel room. There was absolutely no way that spiders this large were native to Britain.

I stuck my foot out and discreetly tried to shake the spider off. It landed in the grass a few feet away and I breathed a sigh of relief, but froze when I saw it scuttling in the grass back toward me. "You two go along without me," I said loudly to Tessa and Jessamine, who hadn't noticed my predicament. "I'm going back to the carriage." With that, I took off down the path, hiking up my dress and dashing past couples going for walks and weaving through benches, on which women looked down their noses at me for behaving in such an unladylike manner. But I couldn't care less what they thought of me.

Several times I turned around, seeing if the spider was still following me; I hoped someone had trampled it with their boots. When I reached the carriage I leapt into it, ignoring Thomas's questions, and slammed the door behind me, feeling as if I was running from the Greater Demon all over again.

The girls arrived back scarcely ten minutes later; Tessa looked shaken and I noticed the tip of Jessamine's parasol was covered in blood. "What happened?" I whispered to Tessa as she slid into the seat next to me, hoping that Jessamine hadn't lost her temper and stabbed her.

"We encountered a goblin and Jessamine was defending us," Tessa answered, although I was sure she was leaving out a large part of the story. "Why did you leave so quickly?"

"I was feeling a bit lightheaded," I lied. "The heat was getting to me."

We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as the carriage jerked to life and began to head back to the Institute. Jessamine was staring straight ahead, blood dripping from her parasol onto her dress.

"So, what is San Francisco like?" Tessa finally asked, as if trying to make polite conversation. "I have always wanted to visit."

I gulped. "Big. And um…there are a lot of people."

Tessa blinked. "It is very like New York, then."

"Yeah." I flailed, sensing the conversation was already dying. "The Golden Gate Bridge is amazing, though. If you ever get the chance, you should definitely see it." Oh, damn! Had the bridge even been built yet? I didn't think so. Wasn't it built in the nineteen-thirties?

Charlotte had taken me aside after dinner the previous night and told me that she had instructed the others not to breathe a word about my past—or rather, _future_ —and Jem's illness. It would be up to us to tell Tessa when we were ready, she'd said. I had been grateful, although I couldn't help but wonder if Jem had already explained everything about himself to her, since he'd opened up fairly quickly to me.

Tessa frowned. "I have never heard about any such bridge."

I looked, terrified, over at Jessamine to see if she would make some sort of snide remark, but she appeared to be lost in her own unpleasant world. "It's not very well-known," I said lamely, and my reluctance to speak about the matter must have been clear to Tessa, for she did not attempt to start a conversation again.

Jessamine stood up as soon as the carriage halted outside the gates to the Institute, waiting for Thomas to help her down before she exited. Tessa followed right after, and by the time I hopped down the steps, thankful there were no spiders in sight, the girls were already disappearing into the house. Jessamine appeared to have grabbed Tessa's hand and was dragging her inside. Giving a thankful smile to Thomas, I hurried inside after them, where Jessamine had finally turned back to me, turning up her nose slightly, as if she had suddenly remembered I was there. "Come along too, Abby, if you must," she said, setting off down the corridor with Tessa in tow. I looked longingly at the staircase winding upstairs, wondering if Jem was back, but Tessa's pleading look she threw at me over her shoulder was enough to make me reluctantly follow Jessamine instead.

She led us through a corridor that I had never taken, despite it looking identical to the hallway outside my room, and into a large bedroom that was at least twice the size of mine. The covers on the bed were painted with flowers, unlike my plain white coverlet, and she had a white vanity table with a bright silver hairbrush and mirror. The window looked out onto the leafy side yard; much more interesting than my view of the coppery sky.

"Your room is lovely," Tessa said as Jessamine shut the door behind us, and I had to reluctantly agree.

But the other girl looked contemptuous. "It's much too small," she replied, causing me to stifle a snort. "But come—over here." She beckoned for us to follow her to the window, where a miniature dollhouse stood on the table. Tessa knelt down so she could see it more clearly, and even I had to admit that it was extraordinary: this was no ordinary dollhouse. Everything was painstakingly detailed, down to the wallpaper and the oil paintings on the walls. I wasn't even sure if the dollhouses in 1978 were built quite like this.

"This was my house," Jessamine was saying, her eyes fixed on it. Her tone was one of reverence and awe.

"You mean this was the dollhouse you had when you were a little girl?" Tessa asked.

"No—this was my _house_. My father had this made for me when I was six. It's modeled exactly on the house we lived in, on Curzon Street. This was the wallpaper we had in the dining-room, and those are exactly the chairs in my father's study. You see?"

I was beginning to understand where she was going with this, but Tessa still looked baffled. "It's very pretty," she said awkwardly, in a hesitant tone I often found myself using.

"See, here in the parlor is Mama," Jessamine continued, and I wondered if she was feeling all right. "And here in the study, reading a book, is Papa. And upstairs in the nursery is Baby Jessie. Later they'll have dinner here, in the dining room. And then Mama and Papa will sit in the drawing-room by the fire. Some nights they go to the theater, or to a ball or a dinner. And then Mama will kiss Papa good night, and they will go to their rooms, and they will sleep _all night long_. There will be no calls from the Clave that drive them out in the middle of the night to fight demons in the dark. There will be no one tracking blood into the house. No one will lose an arm or an eye to a werewolf, or have to choke down holy water because a vampire attacked them."

Grudgingly, I found that I could understand Jessamine. I had never wanted this life either, and now I, like her, was being forced into it. But the conundrum was that I found I was actually _enjoying_ it so far—the training part, at least. Had Jessamine even _tried_ to live as a Shadowhunter, or had she dismissed the possibility straight away?

"When our house burned," she continued, her eyes taking on a quality that was almost like despair, "I had nowhere else to go. It wasn't as if there were relations that could take me in; all of Mama and Papa's relations were Shadowhunters and hadn't spoken to them since they'd broken with the Clave. Henry is the one who made me that parasol. Did you know that? I thought it was quite pretty until he told me that the fabric is edged with electrum, as sharp as a razor. It was always meant to be a weapon."

"You saved us," Tessa said in a soft voice. "In the park today. I can't fight at all. If you hadn't done what you did—"

But Jessamine interrupted her. "I shouldn't have done it. I will not have this life, Tessa. I _will not have it._ I don't care what I have to do. I won't live like this. I'd rather die."

 _Damn Jessamine for making me feel sorry for her,_ I thought, but before I could attempt a half-hearted attempt at consoling her, the door opened behind us and Sophie walked in, looking wary. "Miss Tessa, Mr Branwell very much wants to see you in his study," she said. "He says it's important."

Tessa half-glanced over at Jessamine, and the other girl snapped, "Go along, then, if Henry wants you. I'm quite tired of you already, and I think I'm getting a headache. I don't want you here either, Abby, you're even more useless than Tessa. Sophie, when you return, I'll need you to massage my temples with eau de cologne."

"As you like, Miss Jessamine," Sophie said calmly. I scrambled to my feet and left the room without a glance back at Jessamine; her parting comment had certainly done nothing to endear her to me. Tessa was right behind me, and it was with an enormous amount of relief that Sophie finally closed the door behind us.

Now I couldn't help feeling a bit annoyed; what was so important that Henry could possibly want to see Tessa about? Wasn't he supposed to be helping _me_ , not her? I was the one from the future and desperately needed to go back home.

While I sulked, Sophie led us back through the Institute and to the stairs leading down to the crypt. I took a step back, shivering in the cold air that drifted upstairs from the open door. As they prepared to go downstairs, Tessa turned shyly to me and said, "Thank you for coming with me today, Abby. I feel as if I would have had a much less pleasant time without you."

I hesitated before finally saying, "What are friends for?"

And I found that, as Tessa smiled back at me, I was no longer jealous of her.


	10. Ten

**I** decided to go down to dinner early that night, hoping that I would arrive there first and eat before everyone else showed up. A strange melancholy mood had stolen over me, and I'd spent the remainder of the afternoon in my bedroom, flipping aimlessly through the _Codex_ and trying not to think about the spider I had seen. I kept imagining I felt phantom legs brushing against my skin, or saw the shadow of an insect on the stone floor…something definitely wasn't right about that spider, and I knew that I should tell Charlotte about it, but I feared sounding idiotic or whiny. What if it was perfectly normal that spiders this large lived in London during the nineteenth century? Perhaps with the industrialization that would occur very soon, they would have become extinct or driven out to the country…

I'd very nearly convinced myself this was the case when I heard impatient voices drifting out from the dining-hall, and I sighed under my breath. So much for stealing out of dinner early. Bracing myself for the worst, I pushed open the door and stepped inside, my eyebrows shooting up when I caught sight of Will standing on the sideboard, fiddling with the gasolier. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing the gasolier," he replied irritably, glancing down at me as if amazed by my stupidity. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

Jem, who was sitting on a chair next to him, beckoned me over. "Apparently it's too crooked for his liking," he stage-whispered as I slid into the seat next to him.

I laughed, glancing up at Will. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

"Perhaps that is because your eyes need to be fixed just as much as the gasolier," Will announced, but neither Jem nor I paid attention to him this time.

"How was dress shopping?" Jem asked, turning towards me and grinning.

"Absolutely _fascinating_ ," I replied, injecting as much sarcasm as I possibly could into the words. "Jessamine is such a lovely girl to spend time with."

"I'll take your word for it," he said, lips twitching.

I felt a certain giddiness at making him laugh. "How was the investigation?"

"Fascinating," Jem echoed, although with slightly less sarcasm, and was about to explain further when the door banged open and Jessamine barged in. She took one look at Will before turning around and stalking out again. I stared after her, dumbfounded, while Will snorted with laughter. Even Jem was smiling.

"Perhaps you should fix the gasolier more often if it is going to make her leave," I called up to Will, feeling unusually daring.

"That is a novel idea, future girl," he said, still half-laughing. "It is a wonder I haven't thought of this before."

A moment later the dining-hall doors opened yet again, but this time it was Tessa who appeared through them. Her grey eyes widened just as mine had when she caught sight of Will.

"It serves you right if you break it," Jem was saying to his _parabatai._ When Will didn't give any response except for a muffled grunt, he glanced over at Tessa and his face lit up. "Good evening, Tessa. I was hanging the gasolier crookedly, and Will is endeavoring to straighten it."

"It was _you_ who hung the gasolier crookedly?" I asked in spite of myself. "You declined to tell me that part."

A light blush covered Jem's cheeks and he quickly looked down, as if he were embarrassed. Just as I was puzzling over his strange behavior, Jessamine stalked back into the room and glared daggers at Will. "Really!" she shrieked. "Can't you get Thomas to do that? A gentleman needn't—"

Will continued to look dryly amused. "Is that blood on your sleeve, Jessie?" he asked, indicating the large red stain on her dress.

If he had been any closer, I was sure Jessamine would have slapped him, but as it was she had to settle for tossing her head in indignation and stalking over to the end of the table, where she dropped into a chair and crossed her arms, glaring straight ahead like an upset child.

Jem looked worriedly between Tessa and I. "Did something happen while you and Jessamine were out?" he asked.

Tessa and I shared a quick glance, and before I could hurriedly make up an excuse she spoke instead. "No. It was nothing—"

"I've done it!" Henry's triumphant voice cried, and he burst into the room waving a copper tube in one hand. "I'll wager you didn't think I could, did you?"

"None of us have the slightest idea what you're on about," Will muttered. "Did you know that?"

 _Has he finally invented a Portal?_ I thought hopefully, but at Henry's next words my hopes were dashed. "I've gotten my Phosphor to work at last. It functions on the principle of witchlight but is five times more powerful. Merely press a button, and you will see a blaze of light the like of which you have never imagined."

"So, it's a very, very bright witchlight, then?" Will asked, after a long silence.

Henry didn't seem to notice his derisive tone. "Exactly."

As usual, Jem was the diplomatic one. "Is that useful, precisely? After all, witchlight is just for illumination. It's not as if it's dangerous…"

"Wait till you see it!" Henry exclaimed. "Watch."

Without further ado, he raised the tube. There was a blinding flash of light and the room was instantly plunged into darkness. I heard Tessa yelp and Jem laugh quietly.

"Am I blind?" Will's voice came from the corner, sounding annoyed. "I'm not going to be at all pleased if you've blinded me, Henry."

"No," Henry insisted. "No, the Phosphor seems to—well, it seems to have turned all the lights in the room _off."_

"It's not supposed to do that?" Jem asked mildly.

"Er, no," was Henry's answering reply.

I was about to ask what we were supposed to do next when there was an almighty crash and I nearly jumped out of my chair, flinching away from the noise.

"Will!" Charlotte's exasperated voice cried. "What on earth…"

A bright light flooded the room, and I raised my hands to my face, shielding my eyes from the sudden brightness. I could dimly see Will sitting on the floor amidst a pile of broken tableware. While everyone stared at him, he got to his feet and argued, "I was trying to straighten the gasolier."

Charlotte shook her head in exasperation. "Thomas could have done that. And now you've gone and wrecked half the plates."

"And much obliged to your idiot husband for that," Will muttered, looking down at himself. "I think I've broken something. The pain is quite agonizing."

"You seem quite intact to me," Charlotte said uncaringly. "Get up. I suppose we'll be eating by witchlight tonight."

"I _hate_ witchlight," Jessamine loudly complained. "It makes my complexion look absolutely green."

"She hates a lot of things, doesn't she?" a voice whispered directly next to my ear, and I nearly jumped out of my skin for the second time in five minutes, staring over at an amused Jem.

"I've noticed," I said weakly.

* * *

Over dinner, Charlotte filled us in on her and Henry's visit to Axel Mortmain, a mundane who was apparently a member of the Pandemonium Club and who Tessa had heard about from the Dark Sisters. Jem and Will had found an automaton in the Dark House and brought it back for Henry to examine, hence his summoning of Tessa earlier that afternoon. I had to admit that it sounded far too eerie for my tastes—automatons made out of human flesh and running by clockwork.

Tessa was also quite optimistic about the fact that the entire endeavor might be connected to her brother somehow—I pitied the poor girl; she was so desperate to get her brother back that now it seemed as if she was grasping at straws, despite the fact Henry and Charlotte had no evidence as of yet. But Nate's involvement with the Pandemonium Club had made me even more certain that the blond man I had encountered was Tessa's brother. My stomach churned uncomfortably as I debated whether or not to tell Tessa what I had seen.

As I watched everyone talking, I began to muse about what was going to happen to everyone. Had they been killed in battle, or lived long, happy lives? Surely the Shadowhunters would all be dead by 1978…but if Tessa was indeed a warlock, there was a chance she might still be around since warlocks were immortal…perhaps if that was the case, I could secretly contact her once I got back home.

Sophie slipped into the room halfway through dinner and whispered something in Charlotte's ear. Looking intent, Charlotte rose from her seat immediately and left the room, pausing only to gently touch Henry's shoulder.

"Where's she going?" Jessamine asked as soon as Charlotte had disappeared.

"Indeed, Sophie, my dear," said Will. "Where _did_ she go?"

"If Mrs Branwell had wanted you to know, I'm sure she would have told you," Sophie snapped, unable to conceal the anger in her voice, before turning around and exiting the room.

"Well, then," Henry began, jerking back to attention with a start. "What was it we were discussing?"

"None of that," Will admonished. "We want to know where Charlotte's gone. Did something happen?"

Henry shook his head "No. I mean, I don't _think_ so—" he sighed. "Charlotte doesn't always tell me what she's doing. You know that. Can't blame her, really. Can't count on me to be sensible."

I felt a pang of sorrow for him. He _must_ be fond of her if he looked that hurt by his words.

"That clockwork object you wear around your neck—might I see it for a moment?" Henry asked Tessa. She hesitated before unhooking the angel necklace I'd only briefly seen before from around her neck and handing it to him.

"This is a clever little object," Henry mused, turning it over in his hands. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's," answered Tessa.

Henry made a nose of appreciation. "Like a sort of talisman. Would you mind if I examined it in the laboratory?"

"Oh," she said, sounding startled. "If you're very careful with it. It's all I have of my mother's. If it were broken…"

"Henry won't break or damage it," Jem said to her, a reassuring tone to his voice. "He's really very good with this sort of thing."

"It's true," Henry himself agreed. "I'll return it to you in pristine condition."

"Well…" Tessa began. I didn't blame her; I would have felt the same way if it had been my purse.

"I don't see what the fuss is," Jessamine spoke up haughtily. "It's not like it has diamonds in it."

"Some people value sentiment over diamonds, Jessamine." Charlotte interrupted; she was standing in the doorway. "There is someone here who wants to speak to you, Tessa."

"With _me?"_

"Well, who _is_ it?" Will asked impatiently. "Must you keep us all in suspense?"

"It's Lady Belcourt," Charlotte replied, sounding more than a bit wary. "She's downstairs. In the Sanctuary Room."

"Now? Did something happen?"

Charlotte nodded. "I contacted her. About de Quincey. Just before supper. I hoped she would have some information, and she does, but she insists on seeing Tessa first. It seems that despite all our precautions, rumours about Tessa have leaked into Downworld, and Lady Belcourt is…interested."

"Interested in _what?_ " asked Tessa. "Who is Lady Belcourt? Is she a Shadowhunter?"

Jem was the one to answer this time. "She's a vampire. A vampire _informant_ , actually. She gives information to Charlotte and keeps us apprised of what's going on in the Night community."

"You needn't speak to her if you don't want to, Tessa," Charlotte added. "I can send her away."

But Tessa was already shaking her head. "No. If she's well informed about de Quincey, perhaps she knows something about Nate as well. I can't risk her being sent off if she might have information. I'll go."

"Don't you even want to know what she wants from you?" Will asked.

Tessa looked straight at him. "Aside from the Dark Sisters, I've never really met another Downworlder. I think—that I would like to."

"Tessa—" Jem began, but she had already stood up, leaving the room without a glance back at anyone. Will jumped up and followed her without hesitation. Jem stood up as well; he was at the doorway before he turned back around, his eyes meeting mine.

"Are you coming along, Abby?" he asked.

I looked back at Henry and Jessamine. Henry was preoccupied with his peas and Jessamine was staring out the window. It was doubtful that either of them would notice my absence. "Er, yeah, I guess," I said, and followed Jem out of the dining-hall.

* * *

We caught up with Will, Charlotte and Tessa thirty seconds later; Charlotte turned around to look at us disapprovingly but didn't speak. "You didn't _really_ think we weren't going to come along, did you?" Will asked Tessa.

"I know _you_ can't leave anything well alone," she said crossly. "But I thought better of Jem and Abby."

"Jem persuaded me," I said awkwardly, much to Will's amusement.

"I'm sure he didn't need to do much of—" he began, but Jem interrupted him.

"Where Will goes, I go," the silver-haired boy explained. "And besides, I'm as curious as he is."

"That hardly seems a subject for boasting," Tessa muttered before glancing around us; the hallway was narrower and darker. "Where _are_ we going? Have we turned the wrong way?"

"Patience is a virtue, Miss Gray," Will replied, the familiar mocking tone back in his voice.

While Charlotte explained to Tessa about the Sanctuary and its uses for Downworlders, I was beginning to wonder why I'd come along with them. I didn't particularly want to meet a vampire, or walk through these spooky corridors. Then I automatically glanced over at Jem, and he grinned shyly at me.

Oh. That was why.

"Is it a curse?" Tessa was asking. "Being a vampire?"

"No," said Charlotte. "We think it is a sort of demon disease. Most diseases that affect demons are not transmissible to human beings, but in some cases, usually through a bite or scratch, the disease can be passed on. Vampirism. Lycanthropy—"

"Demon pox," Will interjected, to Charlotte's irritation.

"Will, there's no such thing as demon pox, and you know it," she said firmly. "Now, where was I?"

"Being a vampire isn't a curse. It's a disease," she repeated. "But they still can't enter hallowed ground, then? Does that mean they're damned?"

"That depends on what you believe," Jem said quietly. "And whether you even believe in damnation at all.

Tessa looked shocked. "But you hunt demons. You must believe in damnation!"

Jem shrugged. "I believe in good and evil. And I believe the soul is eternal. But I don't believe in the fiery pit, the pitchforks, or endless torment. I do not believe you can threaten people into goodness."

Tessa, apparently satisfied with this explanation, turned to Will. "What about you? What do you believe?"

" _Pulvis et umbra sumus,"_ he recited coolly. "I believe we are dust and shadows. What else is there?"

"Whatever you believe, please don't suggest to Lady Belcourt that you think she's damned," Charlotte said wryly, stopping at a pair of dark mahogany doors I vaguely recognized from the tour Jem had given me. "She has very kindly offered to help us, and there's no purpose in offering her such insults. That applies to you especially, Will. If you can't be polite, I'll send you out of the Sanctuary. Jem, I trust you to be your charming self. Abby, I hope you will follow Jem's lead. Tessa, try not to be frightened."

The others filed into the Sanctuary one by one; I, of course, was last. Seated in one of the plush armchairs directly across the room was a beautiful, pale woman. Her muted green eyes watched us, cat-like and with a cunning deceptiveness to them. Her blonde hair was curled and tumbled down her back. She was even more beautiful than Jessamine. I had never seen a vampire before, and my breath caught.

"Douse your witchlight, Will," Charlotte muttered under her breath before raising her voice. "So good of you to wait for us, Baroness. I trust you have found the Sanctuary comfortable enough for your tastes?"

"As always, Charlotte," the vampire said, albeit in a bored tone.

"Lady Belcourt," Charlotte began, "Please let me introduce you to Miss Theresa Gray. Beside her are Mr James Carstairs and Miss Abigail Cartwright, two of our young Shadowhunters, and with them is—"

"William Herondale," Lady Belcourt interjected. "Fancy you coming to greet me."

Charlotte looked surprised. "You _know_ each other?"

"William won twenty pounds from me at faro," said Lady Belcourt. "A few weeks ago, in a Downworld gambling house run by the Pandemonium Club."

This only served to make Charlotte look even more flabbergasted. "You _did?_ "

Will shrugged. "It was part of the investigation. I was disguised as a foolish mundane who had come to the place to partake in vice. It would have aroused suspicion had I refused to gamble." I wondered if that had been the Downworlder haunt he'd been arguing about with Jem that first day in the training room.

"Nevertheless, Will, that money you won was evidence. You should have given it to the Clave," Charlotte said sternly.

He looked unabashed. "I spent it on gin."

" _Will._ "

"The spoils of vice are a burdensome responsibility," he said, looking the picture of innocence.

"Yet one you seem strangely able to bear," Jem said, amused.

I suddenly realized that I was standing so close to Jem that my hand was brushing his. I was unexpectedly struck with a vision of pulling him close and kissing him deeply, feeling every line of his body against mine. My mouth dropped open slightly as I contemplated it, enjoying the mental picture far more than I should. By the time I managed to pull myself together and concentrate on the conversation again, the topic had changed.

"Lady Belcourt—if you'll pardon my asking—what is it exactly that you want from Tessa?" Jem asked.

Lady Belcourt looked at Tessa. "You can disguise yourself as anyone, is that correct? A perfect disguise—appearance, voice, and manner? That's what I have heard. I have my sources."

Tessa nodded. "Yes. That is, I have been told the disguise is identical."

"It would have to be perfect," the vampire mused. "If you were to disguise yourself as me—"

"As _you?_ " Charlotte asked. "Lady Belcourt, I don't see—"

" _I_ see," Will said self-importantly. "If Tessa were disguised as Lady Belcourt, she could make her way into one of de Quincey's parties. She could observe him breaking the Law. Then the Clave could attack, without shattering the Accords."

Camille smirked. "Quite the little strategist, you are."

"And it would also provide a perfect opportunity to search de Quincey's residence," Jem added. "See what we can discover about his interest in those automatons. If he really has been murdering mundanes, there's no reason to think that it wasn't for more purposes than mere sport."

"We would have to figure out some way to signal the Clave from inside de Quincey's," Will agreed. "Perhaps Henry could devise something. It would be invaluable to have a blueprint of the house's construction—"

" _Will,_ " Tessa said decisively. "I don't—"

His gaze moved to her. "And of course you wouldn't be alone. I would go with you. I wouldn't let anything happen to you." Was it just me, or did he sound almost protective?

Charlotte was shaking her head. "Will, no. You and Tessa alone, in a house full of vampires? I forbid it."

"Then who would you send in with her, if not me?" Will challenged. "You know I can protect her, and you know I'm the right choice—"

" _I_ could go. Or Henry."

"I'm afraid I agree with William," Lady Belcourt spoke up again. "The only individuals admitted to these parties are de Quincey's close friends, vampires, and the human subjugates of vampires. De Quincey has seen Will before, passing as a mundane fascinated by the occult; he won't be surprised to find out that he's graduated to vampiric servitude."

Charlotte, sensing she was losing, protested, "But Will is only seventeen."

He was ready for her objection. "Most human subjugates _are_ young. Vampires like to acquire their subjugates when they're youthful—prettier to look at, and less chance of diseased blood. And they'll live a bit longer, though not much. Most of the rest of the Enclave wouldn't be able to pass convincingly as a handsome young human subjugate—"

"Because the rest of us are all hideous, are we?" Jem asked wryly. "Is that why I can't do it?"

"No," said Will. "You know why it can't be you. And Abby is hardly trained."

I met Jem's eyes, anxiety written all over my face, and he squeezed my wrist reassuringly. My thoughts scattered at his touch.

"I'm truly not sure about this," Charlotte was saying, still worried. "When is the next of these events set to happen, Camille?"

"Saturday night."

Charlotte bit her lip. "I'll have to speak to the Enclave, before I can agree. And Tessa would have to agree as well."

"You believe that there's a chance my brother might be there?" Tessa asked Camille.

Camille regarded her for a long moment before speaking. "I cannot promise he will be there. He might. But _someone_ there will likely know what has happened to him. The Dark Sisters were regulars at de Quincey's parties; doubtless they or their cohorts, if captured or interrogated, will yield you some answers."

After a long pause, Tessa replied, "I'll do it. But I want to be promised that _if_ Nate is there, we'll get him out, and if he isn't, we'll find out where he is. I want to make sure it's not all about catching de Quincey. It must be about saving Nate, too."

"Of course," said Charlotte. "But I don't know, Tessa. It will be very dangerous—"

"Have you ever Changed yourself into a Downworlder?" Will inquired of Tessa. "Do you even know if it's something that would be possible?"

Tessa shook her head. "I've never done anything like that. But…I could try." She turned to Camille. "Could I have something of yours? A ring, or a handkerchief perhaps."

Camille took off the ruby necklace that glittered against her throat like Jem's jade pendant and handed it to Tessa. "Here. Take this."

Tessa reached out and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Although I had seen her Change into Jessamine before, it was still unnerving to watch her features warp and twist, dissolving into those of Camille's. But when the Change was complete, she didn't look confident as she had with Jessamine: a look of terror crossed her face and she immediately sank into an armchair.

Jem sank to his knees and took one of Tessa's hands. I was admittedly too worried to feel any jealousy, although I was sure it would return in full force later. "Tessa?" he asked.

Tessa choked, "Oh, God. I—my heart's not beating. I feel as if I've died. Jem—"

Jem murmured something to her in a soothing voice. I looked up at Camille, who was smirking as she watched the exchange. Charlotte looked concerned, and Will's expression was unfathomable. The two of us shared a prolonged glance, and this time Will was the first to look away. I felt as if some silent communication had passed between us, although I had no idea what it meant.

After a long, tense minute, Tessa opened her eyes and smiled gratefully at Jem.

Charlotte was the first to speak. "Tessa. Are you—is everything all right?"

Tessa seemed about to answer, but Camille was already talking. "You will have to practice a bit, moving and holding yourself, if you wish to convince de Quincey that you are me. I would never slump in a chair like that. Still, overall, an impressive showing. Someone trained you well."

We all watched as Tessa Changed back into herself and stood up, Jem rising with her. He took his previous spot next to me, and again our fingers brushed. This time neither of us pulled away.

"My necklace?" Camille asked coolly. Tessa handed it to Charlotte, who crossed the room to return it to Camille. I saw Tessa's eyes fly over to Will before she quickly glanced away.

"Lady Belcourt, since none of us have ever been in de Quincey's home, do you think it would be possible for you to provide a floor plan, or even a sketch of the grounds and rooms?" he asked; I couldn't tell whether he'd noticed Tessa's glance or not.

Camille pursed her lips. "I shall provide you with something better. Magnus Bane."

I involuntarily gasped; the name was familiar to me and I was sure I'd heard it before, although I couldn't pinpoint exactly where. Jem gave me a quizzical look, but I didn't return it. I didn't want to draw any attention to myself; Camille hadn't so much as even acknowledged my presence.

"The warlock?" Charlotte said, baffled.

"Indeed," nodded Camille. "He knows the town house as well as I do and is often invited to de Quincey's social events. Though, like me, he has formerly eschewed the parties at which murder is committed."

"Noble of him," Will said under his breath.

"He will meet you there, and guide you through the house. No one there will be surprised to see us together. Magnus Bane is my lover, you see."

Tessa, Jem and Charlotte all looked startled. I wondered why the word had such an impression on them, and then remembered the strict morals of the Victorian era. Anything relating to love or sex was strictly taboo. Really, it was a wonder any of them even knew what sex _was_.

"How nice," Charlotte said awkwardly.

"Indeed it is," Camille said as she stood up; she was nearly as tall as Tessa. "And now, if someone will escort me out. It grows late, and I have not yet fed."

"Will, Jem, if you'll go?" Charlotte asked them quietly, and they began to follow Camille out of the room. Before she left, however, the vampire turned to Tessa one last time.

"If you can do this, and you succeed—whether or not you find your brother—I can promise you, little shape-shifter, that you won't regret it," she said, and with a flash of perfectly white teeth she vanished out the door.

Tessa, frowning, turned to Charlotte. "What do you think she meant by that? That I won't regret it?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I don't know. I'd like to think that she meant that the knowledge of a good deed done would console you, but it's Camille, so…"

"Are all vampires like that?" Tessa continued. "Cold like that?"

"Many of them have been alive a long time," Charlotte explained, apparently searching for the politest way to phrase it. "They don't see things the way we do."

Tessa rubbed her temples and turned to me, her grey eyes seeming as if she was thinking about a different place entirely. "Indeed," she said in a low voice, "They don't."


	11. Eleven

**"Y** ou point out your feet too much when you walk," Will said cheerfully, for once not directing his criticism at me. He was looking instead at Tessa, who had spent the past hour pacing around the library disguised as Lady Belcourt. "Camille walks delicately. Like a faun in the woods. Not a duck."

"I do not walk like a duck," Tessa retorted; I couldn't blame her for looking insulted.

"I like ducks," said Jem, diplomatic as always. He and Will were sitting at the table while I hovered by the bookshelves, unsure whether to stay or leave. I had been dragged down here against my wishes after my training session earlier that morning. "Especially the ones in Hyde Park."

"Abby walks like a duck too," Will said offhandedly, ignoring Jem. "Haven't you noticed?"

I glanced up from where I had been studiously ignoring them, indignant. "I do not! In fact, I _hate_ ducks."

Jem laughed at my affronted expression. "You have to admit, though, you and Tessa are rather alike."

Tessa and I exchanged a puzzled look; what on earth could I, a blonde-haired, brown-eyed Shadowhunter, have in common with a brown-haired, grey-eyed warlock? But Will was leaning back in his chair, pursing his lips and surveying us both. "I suppose Jem is right," he drawled, looking displeased about this fact. "They do both have large eyes and pointed noses."

" _Will,_ " Jem admonished, gently prodding his _parabatai,_ "I was speaking in terms of their mannerisms. They both frown when they are upset and play with their hair when they're worried."

I was slightly flattered that he had noticed so much about me, which was quickly dispelled when I considered that he had noticed just as much about Tessa. It had been two days since Camille's visit, and I'd been training with Jem almost constantly. The infiltration in de Quincey's house was taking place tomorrow night, and I was admittedly terrified about my first real outing as a Shadowhunter. Training was one thing, but fighting against demons was another story entirely. Jem had reassured me countless times that I would do splendidly, but I was of a much different opinion. I could barely step on a spider, so what was I do to against a fully-grown demon? To try and boost my confidence, Jem had been training with me day and night, despite his weakening strength, and I had realized too late that my muscles would be too sore by the time I actually had to do anything. I had come down to the library with Jem out of pity, since I was indebted to him for being so patient with me and helping me gain assurance.

"Perhaps you can only touch the thoughts of the dead, Tessa?" he was saying thoughtfully, his silver eyes taking on a faraway quality. "Perhaps most of the objects given to you by the Dark Sisters were taken from people they had murdered."

But Tessa shook her head. "No. I touched Jessamine's thoughts when I Changed into her. So that can't be it, thankfully. What a morbid talent that would be."

"How clearly can you see the thoughts of the dead?" Jem pressed. "For instance, if I gave you an item that once belonged to my father, would you know what he was thinking when he died?" There was almost an undercurrent of desperation in his tone, and I could empathize with him.

 _Can you Change into someone who doesn't exist yet?_ I thought—it was a notion I had been harboring for the past several days. If I gave Tessa my father's journal, would she be able to Change into him? What would be his thoughts at the moment he died? Had he wished he'd never charged straight into battle without a thought for Mom and I, or was he content to go out in a flash of bravery?

But that question wasn't to be answered, since at that moment the library doors opened and Charlotte appeared, followed by a dozen men whom I recognized from when I had taken my Vows—the London Enclave.

Will jumped up and grabbed my wrist, pulling me behind one of the bookcases. I flinched away from him, surprised at the contact. Jem and Tessa were quick to follow, and the four of us hid behind the shelf.

"Gabriel Lightwood," Jem muttered. "What's he doing here? I thought he was in school in Idris."

I glanced over at Will, who looked like he was a cat who had just spotted a mouse. "He's part of the Enclave now," I whispered to Jem, trying not to think about the fact that he was standing so close I could feel his breath against my skin. "He was at the Institute when I took my Vows."

Jem muttered something in Chinese under his breath. "Just don't get into a fight with him, Will. That's all I ask."

"Rather a lot to ask, don't you think?" Will retorted without looking at him. Cautiously, I leaned around his tall form to see Charlotte, looking exasperated, speaking to a man whom I recognized instantly as Benedict Lightwood.

"And where is Henry? Your husband?" he was asking her. "As one of the heads of the Institute, he really ought to be here."

"He's on his way, Mr Lightwood," Charlotte said with a long-suffering air.

"He'd better be. An Enclave meeting without the head of the Institute present—most irregular." As if he had somehow been alerted to our presence, Benedict's head turned in our direction. This time Will actually grabbed my hand and shoved me behind him before quickly disappearing behind the bookcase himself. But it was too late: Benedict had already spotted us. "And who's back there, then?" he called. "Come out and show yourself!"

Will dropped my hand and looked over to Jem. "No point hiding till they drag us out, is there?"

"Speak for yourself," Tessa cried. "I don't need Charlotte angry at me if we're not supposed to be in here."

"She won't blame either you or Abby," Jem reassured her. "She knows that there's no way either of you would have been aware of the meeting."

This didn't appear to do much to comfort Tessa. Since I was the closest to Benedict, I grudgingly stepped out from behind the shelf first, followed soon after by Will, Jem, and Tessa, the latter having Changed back to her normal self.

"Will," Charlotte said with a heavy, but resigned, sigh. "I told you the Enclave would be meeting here at four o'clock."

"Did you? I must have forgotten that. Dreadful," Will said with a roguish smirk before turning to the boy standing next to Benedict. "'Lo there, Gabriel."

His expression grew perceptibly darker. "William, James, and the Cartwright girl. Aren't you a little young to be lurking around Enclave meetings?"

"Aren't you?" retorted Jem.

"I turned eighteen in June. I have every right to participate in Enclave activities now." Gabriel looked bored.

Before Will could snap back a barbed comment, Callida Fairchild, Charlotte's aunt, bustled up toward us, seeming undeterred by the frosty atmosphere between the two boys. "How fascinating for you," she said, gesturing in Gabriel's direction, before turning eagerly to Tessa. "So is this her, Lottie? The warlock girl you were telling us about? She doesn't look like much."

"Neither did Magnus Bane the first time I saw him," remarked Benedict. "Let's have it then. Show us what you can do."

"I'm not a warlock," Tessa said stubbornly.

This only made Callida look even more interested. "Well, you're certainly something, my girl. If not a warlock, then what?"

To Tessa's obvious relief, Charlotte stepped in. "That will do. Miss Gray has already proven her bona fides to me and Mr Branwell. That will have to be good enough for now—at least until the Enclave makes the decision that they wish to utilize her talents."

"Of course they do," Will burst out. "We haven't a hope of succeeding in this plan without her—"

This was apparently too much for Gabriel, who jumped out of his seat, face bright red. "Mrs Branwell, is William, or is he not, too young to be participating in an Enclave meeting?"

"Yes, he is," Charlotte said wearily. "Will, Jem, Abby, if you'll please wait outside in the corridor with Tessa."

"I will show you out," Gabriel announced, and began to stalk towards the door. I made to follow him, but was distracted by another teenage boy standing just behind Callida. For a moment, I wondered if I had a twin I didn't know about: our eye color, hair color, and build were identical. Our eyes met, and I saw his brow furrow as he registered it too.

Ahead of me, Gabriel, Tessa, Jem and Will had disappeared out the door, but I was too busy staring at the boy to move. "Excuse me," he said in a polished English accent. "Are you Abigail Cartwright?"

"Yes, I am," I said, reaching out to shake his hand. Looking into a mirror of yourself as the opposite gender was extremely strange. "I'm assuming you're a Cartwright as well?"

He nodded, smiling broadly. "My name is Maxwell. Welcome to the family."

I was sure he was a direct ancestor: he could have passed for my father if I had seen him from afar. The family resemblance was too great to be ignored.

Someone cleared their throat impatiently from behind me, and I didn't need to turn around to know that it was Benedict Lightwood. "Maxwell, if you wish to continue speaking to _children_ , I am afraid you will have to leave. The meeting cannot commence if there are any underage Shadowhunters present."

Maxwell's smile faltered, and he took a step back. "Maybe we can speak another time," he suggested. "You look like you could be my sister."

"I was just thinking the same thing," I said. I wanted to ask if there was anyone named Jonathan in his family, as it would explain where my father had gotten his name from, but catching Charlotte's eye I quickly stopped myself. I didn't want to give Benedict any more reason to criticize her wards.

As I walked out, I dimly heard him exclaim, "Mrs Branwell, there are _far_ too many spiderwebs in here. You know how I dislike spiders."

I couldn't help but grin to myself as the door swung shut behind me. It appeared that my fear of spiders and bugs was genetic.

But I stopped short when I saw the empty corridor stretching out in front of me; the others were nowhere to be seen. Sighing, I began to trudge up the stairs to my room—I'd been left out yet again, although I had to admit that this time had been partly my fault.

Henry suddenly skidded out of a room directly next to me, his eyes wild. "Hello, Abby," he exclaimed as he dashed past. "I'm afraid I'm a bit late for the meeting—the others are in the storage room playing charades if you're looking for them!" He gestured to the door behind him before disappearing around the corner.

Startled, and trying to process what had just happened, I turned back around and made for the storage room instead, gently pulling open the door.

Tessa, Will, and Jem were all sitting in a circle around what looked like a square cut into the floor. As I stepped closer, I could see that it was glittering and shimmering, giving them a glimpse into the dining-hall.

"Well, this is certainly a different sort of charades than I'm used to," I said weakly.

"Be quiet, Abby," Will snapped. "They're talking about you, so you might want to listen." Tessa narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn't look at her.

Jem moved over to give me room, and with a grateful smile I slid between him and Tessa, staring down into the square. I had to admit, eavesdropping on an Enclave meeting was quite fascinating. I wondered if they did it often.

"…There's something funny about that Cartwright girl," Benedict was saying, to my annoyance. "None of the Cartwrights, to my knowledge, have ever visited America."

"Oh, come off it, Benedict," Maxwell scoffed. "She looks exactly like us. Besides, she seems to be fitting in quite nicely."

"All thanks to Mrs Branwell, I would assume," Gabriel drawled loudly; I heard Will hiss under his breath. "Not to mention the fact that there are two available young men living here as well."

Luckily, the dusty storage room was dark enough so that nobody could see my blush. To my great relief, the topic of the conversation had switched from me back to Charlotte.

"Honestly, Charlotte, when will you admit that Henry hasn't anything to do with running this place, and that you're doing it all by yourself?" Callida asked. "Perhaps with help from James Carstairs and Will Herondale, but neither of them is any older than seventeen. How much help can they be?"

"It's too much for one person, especially someone your age," agreed Benedict. "You're only twenty-three years old. If you'd like to step down—"

Charlotte was visibly flustered now, and my heart went out to her. "Consul Wayland assigned the running of the Institute to me and my husband five years ago. If you have some issue with his choice, you should take it up with him. In the meantime I shall direct the Institute as I see fit."

"I hope that means that plans such as the one you're suggesting are still up for a vote? Or are you governing by fiat now?" Benedict's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Don't be ridiculous, Lightwood, of course it's up for a vote," said Callida. "All in favor of moving on de Quincey, say aye."

To my mild surprise, the verdict was unanimous: everyone was in favor of infiltrating de Quincey's. Tessa appeared to be baffled as well, since Jem whispered to her, "They're always like this. They like to jockey for power, but none of them would vote no on an issue like this. They'd be branded a coward for doing so."

I switched my attention back to Benedict, who appeared to have monopolized the meeting yet again. "Very well. Tomorrow night it is, then. Is everyone sufficiently prepared? Are there—"

The timing couldn't have been more perfect: the dining-hall doors swung open and Henry bounded in, calling, "I'm here! Not too late, am I?"

"Henry," Benedict said dryly. "How pleasant to see you. Your wife was just briefing us on your newest invention. The Phosphor, is it?"

"Yes!" he said eagerly, holding a small cylindrical up. "This is it. And I can promise it works as advertised. See?"

"Now, there's no need for a demonstration," Benedict objected, standing up quickly. But it was too late: the square suddenly went black, and there was a sudden loud crash. I cringed as I heard the shattering of glass and thought of Charlotte's precious cutlery.

But Will was smirking evilly. "Bit awkward for Henry, and yet, somehow quite satisfying, don't you think?" he asked. Jem, Tessa, and I all exchanged conspiratorial glances, and were forced to agree.

* * *

I spent the remainder of the evening in the music room, but I was unable to play even a simple song—my mind was too chaotic, full of worry and fear, to be able to remember the names of the keys, let alone the songs. I finally just plopped my head down on the piano, feeling the vibration of the disjointed note reverberate through my brain.

"I thought I'd find you here," I heard Jem say from the front of the room. I kept my face hidden for another moment to hide my smile as I heard him walk across the room and stop behind me. "Abby, are you all right?" he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his tone. His hand gently touched my shoulder, and I shot up, whirling around on the bench to stare, wide-eyed, at him. His silver eyes were concerned, his hand still poised in midair after my sudden movement.

"Yes!" I nearly shrieked, silently cursing myself for spinning around so quickly. I could still feel the warmth of his hand through my dress. "I'm just…really distracted. I can't concentrate properly." _In more ways than one,_ I thought dryly.

Jem drew back his hand and slid over on the bench next to me; my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could see my pulse hammering away in my neck.

"You don't have your violin," I said suddenly; he was usually never without it, especially up here.

He smiled crookedly, seeming a bit embarrassed. "I don't need to have it as an excuse to come up here anymore, right?" he asked.

I swallowed hard; what on earth did he mean by that? "I guess not," I said awkwardly, and the silence stretched on. _How do you feel about Tessa?_ I wanted to ask. _How do you feel about me? Listen, Jem, I don't care that we're from completely different worlds. I've fallen for you, and as cliché as it sounds, I have no idea how to get back up. You can even fall in love with Tessa—at least that means I'll be able to know for certain that it's not meant to be._

"What's bothering you?" he asked me, sending my thoughts scattering. "You look worried."

"Yes—yeah, I am," I said, unable to look at him in fear that I would lose my train of thought again. "I just…I'm still worried about tomorrow night, despite your reassurances."

"You don't have to go, Abby," Jem said kindly. "I can tell Charlotte that you don't feel prepared."

"No, that's not it," I burst out. _I don't want to leave you._ "I _do_ want to go. I'm just afraid I'll put everyone in danger and then the Enclave will blame me—"

Jem made a strange noise and I automatically glanced over at him, startled, until I realized that he had snorted. "Abby, if we were punished for putting others in danger, Will would be long banished by now. Everyone knows that you're inexperienced. In fact, Charlotte has instructed me to keep an eye on you."

"She has?" I asked, surprised.

He nodded. "I won't leave you, Abby. You don't need to worry about being alone."

I sighed but couldn't help smiling as well, pretending that he was speaking in general and not just about the raid on de Quincey's. Something about the way he was looking at me—gentle, and with trust in his eyes—made me feel braver, and I managed to pluck up the courage to tell him about the spiders I'd seen—first the one at the motel, and then the one at the Pandemonium Club, and then finally the one at Hyde Park. His expression didn't waver at all—it didn't crumple up in disdain or mockery as I was sure Will's would if I had told _him._ I finished with, "I don't want to tell Charlotte, because it seems like she's got enough on her plate as it is. I know it's silly…but I can't help worrying it's something more."

Jem was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching my face, before he said, "If you ever see the spiders again, tell someone right away—or, better yet, see if you are able to capture it. It might not be anything, but the fact that you saw it in your time suggests that there might be something more to the story."

I took a deep, shuddering breath—his words greatly reassured me, and it felt comforting finally getting them off my chest. "Yeah, I think that's what I'll do," I said slowly. "Thank you, Jem."

"Anytime, Abby," he said simply, and we both lapsed into silence then, each understanding the other without saying a word.


	12. Twelve

**"I** t looks as if it shall rain tonight," Gabriel Lightwood observed, lifting up the curtain in the carriage and curling his lip slightly in disgust. "Trust Charlotte to pick such a night when we shall have to lie in wait outside."

 _Oh, so now she can control the weather too?_ I thought bitterly, but didn't open my mouth. Since Jem, Gabriel and I were the three youngest Shadowhunters—it still felt horribly strange to think of myself as a _Shadowhunter_ —a special carriage had been designated just for us, and we would be the last in the Clave to arrive at de Quincey's. Gabriel had complained bitterly, not only about being "treated like a child" as he had referred to it, but also about having to brave a carriage ride with Jem and I. Perhaps he had thought that we would talk too much for his liking. In a twist of irony, _he_ was the one who was doing the majority of the talking. Jem and I had barely said two words at all.

Tessa, disguised as Camille, had been the first to leave along with Will. She had looked very pale but determined the entire day, her chin held high and a resolute spark in her eyes. Just before she had left, I'd tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Good luck tonight."

"Thank you, Abby," she'd replied, in her quiet but strong voice. "I do believe I shall need it."

"Perhaps I should wish _you_ good luck as well," Will had sneered on his way out the door. "You're the one who is looking as if she is about to faint."

He was unfortunately right: I had been sick with worry the entire day, constructing worst-case scenarios in which I was somehow killed or got the rest of the Clave killed. Even though I knew, theoretically, how I was supposed to fight vampires, practice was still extremely different from theory. Jem had told me to stay close to him and he would help me if I needed it—but I had the uneasy feeling that I would end up fainting before we even reached de Quincey's house. To keep my mind off the upcoming raid, I instead thought about how Tessa was doing. She ought to be even more nervous than I was—after all, she was the key part of the plan and she would be with _Will_ , of all people—but behind her unobtrusive, polite exterior I knew she was much stronger than everyone thought. Unlike me, she wasn't afraid to state her opinion, and she would stand up for herself if she thought she was being slighted. I had to admit she was very unlike the stereotypical girl from the Victorian era, and although she was still quite guarded around me—I had the feeling that she couldn't quite figure me out and thought me rather odd—I was beginning to think of her as a friend and confidante, and often wondered if she would ever discover I was from the future. Perhaps it was best to keep her in the dark until we knew each other a little better. She was still wary of the Institute and the residents inside, and for good reason.

"Abby," Jem said quietly from his seat next to me, and I jumped, my heart pounding now from attraction as well as fear. "You're shaking."

"I…I am?" I held up my hand, disappointed that the courage and strength runes I had drawn on my arms shortly before we left the Institute had already worn out, and was displeased to see that my fingers were trembling uncontrollably, as if I was cold. Alas, it was a hot, muggy June night and I couldn't use that excuse. Across the carriage, I could see Gabriel watching us with his eyes narrowed.

"Why are you scared?" he asked; I couldn't tell whether his tone was disdainful or not.

"Well, this is my first real mission," I explained, lowering my hand and lacing my fingers together, hyperaware of Jem's worried silver eyes on me. "Why _wouldn't_ I be scared?"

Gabriel raised his chin slightly, looking down his nose at me. "Nephilim do not cower in the face of danger. Rather, they welcome it, as it means they are fulfilling their duties."

By the Angel, he was quoting directly from the _Codex._ "But it's natural to be afraid when you may be facing death," I tried to argue. Beside me, Jem gave a slight, almost imperceptible movement, and I instantly regretted my words. _Nice one, Abby._

"Is it?" Gabriel countered. He settled back in his seat, folding his arms and looking back out the window. "You are in for a surprise, little American girl, and I shouldn't like to be there when you finally figure out that this is not a childish game. However, I shouldn't be surprised—the Cartwrights are a family of fools. I see that the apple does not fall far from the tree."

"Gabriel," Jem admonished, and I was surprised to hear a hard edge in his tone—sweet, caring Jem, who never thought badly of anyone. "That is enough."

But this only served to make Gabriel look even more amused. "Standing up for her, are you, Carstairs? I suppose you must play the white knight for someone, since Herondale is not here at the moment."

"Will is perfectly capable of defending himself," Jem replied, folding his hands over his dragon cane—he'd told me that his father had it custom-made in Beijing. "I merely make peace between him and those unfortunate enough to cross his path."

In spite of myself, I snorted in quite an unladylike manner, covering my mouth with my hand to hide my grin. Gabriel's eyes were by now slits in his face as he glared at us, mistakenly assuming I was laughing at him. Jem looked surprised but gratified at my amusement. But before I could apologize for my sudden outburst, the carriage squealed to a sudden halt, jerking us all back into the plush velvet seats.

"We're here," Gabriel muttered with evident relief, and immediately yanked open the door, leaping out of it and disappearing into the darkness. The Lightwoods had lent one of their carriages for use during the night, and their driver did not help us out as Thomas did.

Jem climbed out of the carriage next, and gallantly offered his hand to me. I was still unused to the stiff formalities of this era, but I swallowed hard and took his hand anyway, hoping that my own had stopped quivering, as I hopped down from the carriage, grateful that I was in my comfortable training gear—which had now, I supposed, turned into my fighting gear.

He let go of my hand too soon, and I struggled to contain my irrational disappointment as he held up his witchlight, the glow illuminating the area in front of us. We were on a cobblestone street lined with sprawling manor houses, most painted a bright white and shining slightly even in the darkness.

"This is de Quincey's house?" I asked Jem as we made our way across the front lawn. Light spilled from the windows and several enormous pillars stood at its front; I wondered how Will and Tessa were faring inside and if they'd managed to find Magnus Bane yet.

Jem nodded, ushering me through a garden path around the side of the mansion. "It is rather grand, isn't it?" He tilted his head to look up at the manor; I had never seen anything quite like it. "The others should already be around the back."

He was right; I could see a circle of Clave members standing in the back garden next to a roaring fountain. The edges of the property were surrounded by tall hedges—to keep prying eyes away from any odd things the vampires might be doing, I supposed—and the grass was neatly trimmed.

Charlotte broke away from the rest of the Clave when she saw us. "Gabriel told us that you would be late," she said, as if it was all our fault that we had been forced to go in the last carriage. "How are you feeling?" she continued, and I waited for Jem to answer before I realized that the question had been directed at both of us.

"I'm really nervous," I admitted, wringing my hands together. "I just hope everything will go as planned."

"Please don't worry," she told me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You'll have Jem with you, and I daresay that he'll do a better job of reassuring you than anyone else could."

Luckily it was dark enough so that neither of them could notice my blush. I took a short step away from both of them, looking instead to the Clave, and saw that they were staring at a pair of French doors that led into the house. Indistinct shapes were moving around inside, although I couldn't see them clearly. I wondered how powerful the glamours that concealed us were.

"So what do we do now?" I whispered to Jem, who was still standing beside me and looked quite relaxed.

"We wait," he said simply, smiling at me. "Hopefully Henry's Phosphor will work correctly. I daresay Will and Tessa shall figure out some way to alert us if it does not."

I glanced nervously back at the French doors; the shapes moving around inside had now disappeared. The lights shining from the windows were being turned off one by one, casting the back lawn in darkness. Evidently this wasn't supposed to happen, as the Shadowhunters were now muttering among themselves and most appeared to be readying for a fight, pulling out their seraph blades and drawing last-minute runes. I reached for my own seraph blade, closing my fingers around the hilt and trying to remember the techniques that Jem had taught me. _Remember, do not attack any vampires unless they attack you first,_ he had told me. _They may look like humans, but most of them would kill you in an instant if they could._

I swallowed hard, tearing my gaze away from the doors and instead looked out across the backyard. The high-pitched hum of crickets was nearly deafening, and I could hear an owl hooting in the distance. This was so unlike San Francisco, where the only sounds at night were the yells of drunken teenagers stumbling down the street or the squealing of car brakes. Nevertheless, something about the foreign sounds was relaxing, and I let out a shaky breath as I tilted my head upward, toward the sky. It was a clear night, and the stars and planets were clearly visible, sprinkling the sky like glittering diamonds.

"By the Angel," I murmured in awe, "There are so _many_ of them."

Jem followed my gaze, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Will they mysteriously disappear in the next century?" he whispered so that the Clave couldn't hear him.

I shook my head. "It's just…I live in the city, and the light blocks out most of them. When I was little I used to lie on a blanket in the backyard and try to figure out which ones they were. I think that one," I pointed to a bright speck just over our heads, "is Venus, and then that's the North Star. There is Sirius—the dog star—and the constellations…" I trailed off, trying to put my sudden familiarity into words. "It's comforting. I recognize them from my time, and perhaps it's silly, but it makes me feel as if home isn't so far away after all."

"It is rather comforting," Jem replied. "No matter what is happening on Earth, the stars endure." His voice sounded faraway as well, and I supposed that he was thinking about his life in Shanghai. I imagined Jem as a little boy, with dark hair and dark eyes, lying on the ground staring up at the same stars as I would over a century later, and feeling reassured by their steady light.

We both slowly looked down at the same moment, and our eyes locked as we shared a smile. Again, I felt a sense of kinship that I had never felt with anybody else before. Jem, I realized, was just as comforting as the stars to me. With his easy smile and his kind eyes, he gave off a steady light of his own that seemed to brighten whenever he walked into the room. _Oh God,_ I thought, _I'm beginning to sound poetic. What has gotten into me? I hate poetry. Is this what having a crush does to you?_

"Abby!" I heard a voice call from the huddled group of the Clave, and a figure broke off from the rest to walk over to me. "How are you faring?"

I recognized Maxwell Cartwright right away. His blond hair shone even in the dim light, and his brown eyes were sparkling. I wondered what his relation was to me—a great-great-grandfather, perhaps? I would have to ask Mom about Dad's family tree when I got back home. I was sure that she still had it, hidden away in her box of old mementos.

"I'm doing all right," I told him, trying to smile. "A bit nervous, but apparently that's to be expected."

Maxwell chuckled. "Of course it is, darling. I would be surprised if you _weren't_ nervous!" He then turned to Jem, who was polite as ever. "Hullo, Carstairs. How are you feeling?" Maxwell sounded hushed, as if he was speaking at someone's bedside.

 _He's not an invalid,_ I thought angrily. But Jem had already replied: "I am quite well, thank you."

"Excellent, excellent!" Maxwell sounded rather pompous, rubbing his hands together in apparent eagerness. "Bit warm tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes," I agreed, shooting a pointed glance at Gabriel. "Luckily it hasn't started raining."

"Oh, that would be _a disaster!"_ Maxwell's eyebrows shot up in horror, and I laughed; he was so expressive that it wasn't a struggle at all to guess what he was thinking.

Jem gently touched my arm, and I started at his touch. "I think something's happening," he said in a low voice, and I automatically looked toward the doors. The house was now cast in darkness, but I could hear dim voices emanating from inside. The rest of the Clave was listening as well, most already having a seraph blade at the ready—

And then there was a sudden flare of orange light and the French doors burst open, a mass of shrieking vampires clawing their way out. I began to step aside so I wouldn't get trampled, but Jem's hand now closed firmly over my arm. "You can do it, Abby," he murmured into my ear as Maxwell let out a battle cry and began to charge toward them. "We just need to herd them back into the house. Follow my lead." And after a quick smile at me, he hurried in the direction Maxwell had gone. The Shadowhunters were now all moving as one huge, black-clad group, forcing the vampires back into the house.

I pulled my seraph blade out of my pocket and whispered " _Telantes_ ", the first angel's name that came to my mind, and with a bright burst of white light the blade was unsheathed, sparkling in the glow of the flames that were currently raging inside the house. Moving as a group, we slowly pushed the line of vampires back into the doors. I was squashed against Jem's shoulder on one side and Gabriel's on the other, but we were too busy concentrating to notice the space—or lack thereof.

With an ear-splitting crash, the glass on the elegant doors shattered as the Shadowhunters surged through it. My nose was suddenly assaulted by a great waft of smoke, and I threw up my arm and coughed, trying to see inside the room. The initial fire appeared to have been tamed, but I could see several piles of ash scattered around my feet, and my stomach rolled as I realized they were the remains of vampires who hadn't been so lucky.

When the smoke finally cleared, I noticed that we were standing in a large, low-ceilinged room that appeared to be some sort of theater. Hundreds of plush red velvet chairs lined the floor, and at the front of the room stood an elevated stage, on which a blond man was shackled to a chair, his head drooping. Across the room I could see Will, holding his seraph blade and his clothes splattered with blood. Even from this distance I could see his blue eyes sparking with what looked like rage, and several feet away from him stood Camille—Tessa—who resembled a deer in headlights. Her head was whipping back and forth between us and the man, who I assumed was a mundane, sitting in the chair, and I wondered what had happened.

By now, the Clave had managed to form a circle around the remaining vampires, preventing them from escaping. At the very front of the group stood a tall, silver-haired vampire whom I assumed was de Quincey. His teeth were bared, his fangs exposed, and for the first time I understood why Shadowhunters disliked Downworlders. Although he was human in appearance, he radiated a strange aura that I couldn't understand. It was as if a frozen corpse had been reanimated, something that wasn't quite _normal_. Frankly, vampires set me on edge more than anything else. I could hear my teeth chattering, and wondered whether it was from fear or cold. I suddenly understood what Tessa had meant about Camille being icy.

"Get ready, Shadowhunters," a low but attractive voice sounded from behind me. Déjà vu hit me like a train, and I stupidly turned my back on the vampires to whirl around, already feeling my eyes pop open. A man had somehow snuck up behind us—if he could even be called a man. He had greenish-gold eyes, vertical and slit-pupilled like a cat's, brown-skinned and wearing a ruffled coat that looked like something straight out of my history books. A huge diamond glittered in his ear, and he carried a walking-stick encrusted with diamonds. But it wasn't his outlandish appearance that made me stare: it was inherent familiarity, and I knew exactly where I'd seen him before. "Magnus Bane," I said, startled. His cat's eyes flickered toward me, and he raised one arched eyebrow. But I was too busy reminiscing to elaborate.

I'd been ten or eleven at the time, before I had learned about the Shadow World. Mom and I had been running errands and were waiting to hop on a streetcar when I'd lost track of her and after a moment of panicking, had spotted her talking to the strangest man I had ever seen. He had worn a pair of flamboyant rainbow-colored pants, as was the seventies fashion, and at first I'd wondered if he'd been an Elvis impersonator. There had been a brown-haired girl with him too, although I couldn't remember her face. "Mom!" I'd called, and the three of them had turned toward me before she'd blocked my view, hurrying toward me as if she hadn't disappeared at all. The two strangers had melted away into the crowd as quickly as they'd appeared. "That man looked funny," I'd remarked later. "Who is he?"

"Magnus Bane," Mom had said automatically, and had immediately clapped her hand over her mouth as if she'd regretted her words. "He was a…friend of your father's."

"Of Daddy's?" I'd echoed, but she had quickly fallen silent, refusing to answer any more of my questions.

Now I snapped back to the present, my eyes refocusing on the warlock standing in front of me. How had he known my father? Why was he talking to my mother? And who was the girl who had been with him?

But now he was no longer waiting for my answer; like the rest of the Clave, he had forgotten about me already and was now concentrating on the circle of vampires, which was probably a wise decision. De Quincey appeared to be arguing with Benedict Lightwood, and it didn't take me long to get the gist of the conversation: "… Otherwise, there will be no mercy," Benedict was saying, an ugly smirk on his face. Surely the vampires hadn't taken too kindly to a group of Shadowhunters storming in on their breaking of Covenant law.

A red-haired vampire stepped to the front of the crowd. He looked even angrier than Benedict and I could hear the repressed rage in his voice as he replied, "If we needed any further proof that the Nephilim have never meant their promises of peace, here it is. Dare to attack us, Shadowhunters, and you'll have a war on your hands!"

"Then let the war begin here," Benedict said quietly, and flung a blade at de Quincey.

And then everything happened very fast. The red-haired vampire threw himself in front of de Quincey, exploding in a shower of ash and blood, and the Shadowhunters sprang into action, attacking the vampires with a dizzying speed. I could only stand there for a moment, open-mouthed, as they began to battle the vampires, the glint of seraph blades mixed with dark red blood. Magnus Bane had disappeared, and I couldn't say I blamed him. Part of me shuddered with revulsion at the sight, but another part seemed to have shut off entirely, allowing me to witness the carnage as easily as if I were watching a movie. Somehow I was able to detach myself—

Something hit me hard across the face and I felt my legs give out as I collapsed, the pain shooting through my entire body. _Watch your back, Abby,_ I remembered Jem's countless warnings in the training room, and I immediately turned my fall into a roll, leaping to my feet and facing the dark-haired vampire who had just attacked me. Blood poured from his mouth—he was already wounded—and his hands were reaching out for me, as if imagining closing them around my throat. _They're not human,_ I told myself, and threw my seraph blade directly at his chest, watching in horrified fascination as he collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood, his clothes the only thing to signify that he had even been existent in the first place.

"Excellent shot," I heard Jem say in my ear as I snatched up my seraph blade. He looked impressed, and I felt my heart swell up with pride, although I couldn't ignore the fact that I had just killed someone, regardless of the fact that they were a vampire or not. And then I saw a white figure moving around behind Jem, and my smile disappeared. "Jem, watch your back!" I called, and he whirled around with an unbelievable speed, prepared to fight.

Everything was chaos. Through the smoke and moving bodies, I could see Tessa, still disguised as Camille, kneeling down next to the mundane in the chair. Will was sprinting across the room, apparently in an effort to reach her, and Jem was battling the next vampire. Charlotte and Henry were both preoccupied, Henry looking more intent than I had ever seen him, and Maxwell had a huge grin on his face as he dispatched a female vampire with seemingly no effort.

" _Abby, look out!_ " I heard a male voice yell, and saw Will staring at me from across the room just as de Quincey slammed into me. I hit the floor hard and lost my grip on the seraph blade, dimly seeing it roll away as the vampire pinned me to the ground, one hand grasping my upper arm so tightly that I could feel it losing circulation.

"New, are you?" he sneered, and I could see his teeth were stained with blood. "I could tell by your vacant expression. But I will not kill you yet, little Shadowhunter. I have more important matters at the moment." Before I could answer, he had yanked my arm backward, and I heard a loud crack at the same time as blazing pain shot through it. I screamed, my eyes streaming with tears as de Quincey let go of me and rushed toward the stage where Tessa was still sitting, unaware that he was heading straight for her.

Through the agony, I saw Jem kneel down beside me, his silver eyes full of worry. I opened my mouth to tell him not to worry about me, to continue fighting, but instead of speaking I accidentally tried to move my broken arm, and the world briefly disappeared from around me as I properly fainted for the first time in my life.

* * *

When I came to again, I was propped against the wall with Jem still beside me. He was gently cradling my arm and lightly drawing an _iratze_ on it that astonishingly seemed to have numbed the pain, although it was still lying at an awkward angle. His eyes fluttered up to meet mine and he smiled when I saw I was awake. "You did brilliantly, Abby," he praised. "Don't worry about your arm—it will heal in no time."

"Is it all over?" I asked, staring around the destroyed room. The Shadowhunters all appeared to be cleaning up after the carnage—some were drawing _iratzes_ on each other and others gathering up the piles of ashes. Tessa appeared to desperately be trying to unshackle the chained man from the chair, who was still unconscious. Will stood over her, looking extremely displeased.

Jem nodded in response to my question. "De Quincey managed to escape, unfortunately," he told me. "But he was the only vampire who did." Following my gaze, he added in a lower voice, "That's Nathaniel. Apparently Tessa refused to leave him when Will told her to—I don't blame her. Henry's Phosphor malfunctioned." He gave a wry grin.

The blond man moaned and raised his head slightly; I wasn't surprised in the least to see that it was indeed the man at the Pandemonium Club. Well, as long as he didn't recognize me, I didn't see the need to tell anyone else about it. "Really," I said dryly, leaning my head back against the wall and taking my seraph blade from Jem, who had helpfully retrieved it. "How…fascinating."

Through my half-closed eyes, I could see Will walking over toward us. His place on the stage had been replaced by Charlotte, who along with Tessa was fussing over Nathaniel. "You bit de Quincey," Jem called over to Will, who was wiping his bloody face with his sleeve. "You fool. He's a _vampire._ You know what it means to bite a vampire."

Will didn't look upset in the least. "I had no choice. He was choking me."

"I know," Jem sighed, seeming exasperated. "But really, Will. _Again?_ "

* * *

Something about the _iratze_ Jem had drawn on my arm possessed the unfortunate side effect of exhaustion and confusion, and I was nearly unconscious by the time we headed back out to the carriages. It was decided that Tessa and Nathaniel would ride in Charlotte and Henry's carriage, while Jem, Will and I would take a smaller carriage that the Lightwoods had lent to us. The rest of the Enclave were staying back to finish cleaning up de Quincey's now ruined house and to look for more evidence of the vampires' crimes.

My arm was still hanging limply at my side, and although the pain was mostly gone it still felt stiff and sore, as if I hadn't moved it in days. I stumbled after Jem and Will, cradling my arm in my uninjured hand and trying not to wince; I'd never seen a Shadowhunter betray any sign of discomfort.

Even the night air, which had dropped at least ten degrees in the past hour, didn't help wake me up. Since Will was still covered in blood, Thomas made him wait outside while he went to fetch him a cloth. Before he left, Thomas gallantly helped me up into the carriage, where I slid next to Jem, very aware that it was much smaller than the Institute carriage and two people could barely fit side by side. Now that I was so close to him, I could notice aspects of his appearance I couldn't in the dim light of the house: he seemed healthier than I had ever seen him, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. He was thrumming with energy, something I had only previously seen before in Will, and if I hadn't known better I would have guessed he was perfectly healthy.

"I daresay even Will should be impressed with you," he said lightly, teasingly. "You did splendidly back there, Abby. I'm proud of you."

I could already feel myself blushing. "It's you who taught me everything. No… _you_ were amazing. I just…I didn't expect that you were a…that you could fight like that. I mean…you never struck me as the type to have bloodlust." I thought of his mild and thoughtful demeanor, his tenderness when handling his violin…but then the utter intent on his face as he'd attacked the vampires, moving as fast as a bullet and throwing his seraph blade, a determined look in his eyes.

Jem regarded me thoughtfully. "Above all, I am a Shadowhunter. Appearances are deceiving. You hardly seem the type to be right in the middle of battles, either, but it seemed to come almost naturally to you."

I pursed my lips, considering his words. "I suppose you're right. I still feel horrible that I killed that vampire. I mean, I know that he would have killed me without even blinking…"

"The first one is always the worst," Jem replied. "It becomes easier in time."

I yawned hugely and curled up in the limited space that the seat allowed me, trying to get into a comfortable position, since it was a fairly long ride back to the Institute and with my current state I knew I would fall asleep before then. But my endeavours failed, and I sprawled out across the seat, my head landing on Jem's shoulder. "Oh, sorry," I apologized, hoping he couldn't hear the sudden catch in my voice.

"It's all right," he assured me, and I could have sworn I heard embarrassment in his voice as well. "The carriage is hardly large enough for two people, let alone three."

I wished my heart would slow down, wondering why it was beating so fast, until I realized that it wasn't my heart but Jem's, pounding away in his chest. The _yin fen_ must possess some sort of quality that made it quicken one's heartbeat.

"Why did you seem so surprised when you saw Magnus?" Jem asked me after a short silence. Leaning against him wasn't particularly comfortable—his bones were sharp and prominent, and dug uncomfortably into my ear, but then again, his body heat was warm and steady, and it was the closest I could get to him without it encroaching into romantic territory.

"I recognized him," I admitted. "I saw him in…1973, I think it was. My mother was speaking to him…" Trailing off, I wondered if I should tell him about the girl who had been with him, but loud voices suddenly drifted up to the carriage, and Jem stiffened instantly. I recognized Gabriel Lightwood and Will at once.

"I just wondered if perhaps you have ever had enough," Gabriel was saying, sounding insolent as usual.

"Enough of what?" Will was perfectly calm.

"Enough of behaving as you do."

"Oh, I can never get enough." Even though I couldn't see his face, the smirk in his voice was evident. "Which, incidentally, is what your sister said to me when—"

Jem suddenly threw open the carriage door and, leaning down, literally yanked Will inside, slamming the door behind him and leaving Gabriel staring open-mouthed at him. At the same time, I heard Thomas's whip and the clop of the horses' hooves as the carriage started forward. Whatever spell there had been briefly between Jem and I was broken. "What were you thinking?" the silver-haired boy asked furiously, glaring at Will.

But I didn't particularly care what Will Herondale was thinking at any given time. I managed to tune out his answer with relative ease and instead raised my eyes to the side of Jem's face. His gear was stained with dried vampire blood and there was a cut on the side of his cheek, but he appeared otherwise unscathed. I had a sudden vision of Charlotte instructing me to tend to his wounds, and of course I would have to take his clothes off if I wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn't hurt elsewhere—

And then I heard two dreaded words coming out of Jem's mouth, interrupting my rather improper, racy fantasy: two words that didn't mean much apart, but when put together they were disastrous: _Tessa_ and _pretty_. My heart immediately sank all the way to my feet, my momentary dream disappearing with it. So Jem thought Tessa was pretty—of course he did. Of course, I hadn't heard his entire sentence, but I was sure that I could guess fairly easily what it had been. So I decided to stupidly jump into the conversation—after all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?

"Tessa's very pretty," I mumbled, feeling my eyes flutter closed. My arm still ached dully, and whatever _iratze_ Jem had drawn on me was making me feel content and sleepy.

Both Will and Jem turned toward me, as if they had both suddenly realized I was still present. Will smirked at me, although something else sparked in his blue eyes when he looked back and forth between Jem and I that I couldn't quite place. It was almost something like…worry? But even as I tried to decipher it, he was back to his normally cruel, uncaring self again. "Good evening, future girl," he said, his tone already laced with sarcasm. "I suppose recent events must have been _exhausting_ for you. It takes a lot of energy to kill just one vampire. Heaven knows James and I are about ready to pass out."

I couldn't muster up the energy to scowl at him, but luckily Jem did that for me. "The _iratze_ I used on her arm stops the pain, but it does make one very tired. Besides, runes work slightly differently on her since she is still such a new Shadowhunter. Charlotte told me to guard her and keep her out of the action as much as I could."

Will's smirk only widened. "I daresay it would be disastrous if you were to be killed a century before you were even born. Heaven only knows what that would do to your future self!"

"Stop it," I managed to mumble. "It's not my fault that de Quincey attacked me. He was trying to get to Tessa, and I was in the way."

"Speaking of Tessa, she did quite a commendable job tonight. Don't you agree, Will?" Jem asked, but Will was too busy staring at his own reflection in the window, seeming lost in thought. When there was no answer, I felt rather than heard Jem sigh slightly and add, "We needn't talk about Tessa if you don't want to, you know."

"It's not Tessa," Will replied. "One of the vampires had a human servant who rushed me. I killed him without thinking about it. He was just a stupid human boy, and I killed him."

Jem was silent for a minute before he said, "He was a darkling. He was Turning. It would have been a matter of time."

"He was just a boy," Will repeated. "I'm going to get drunk when we get home. I think I'm going to have to."

"No, you won't," Jem said firmly. "You know exactly what will happen when we get home."

The fact that Will was showing remorse over killing a boy—however beyond saving he was—showed that he had some sort of conscience, however small, and with a frown I was forced to re-evaluate his character. I'd always thought that Jem had been his missing integrity, but perhaps Will wasn't as heartless as I thought he was. Feeling a tiny smile curve my mouth, I closed my eyes and let the lull of the carriage begin to rock me to sleep.

"What are you smiling about, future girl?" I dimly heard Will demand. "Surely you cannot be _that_ proud of yourself. I will admit that was a good throw, but it would have been more impressive had you taken out more vampires."

But for once, I didn't let his words bother me. In the dream world I was slowly sinking into, it was just Jem and I in the carriage, with no talk of Will or Tessa or vampires. My heart was swelling in a quiet joy, seeming as if it was about to burst, and I wondered if this was what happiness felt like.


	13. Thirteen

**M** y dreams that night were intense and lifelike, almost crossing the line into fever dreams. I was dimly aware that I was asleep, sometimes catching flashes of my darkened room, but most of the time I was lost in an entirely different world.

I was flat-out sprinting across an unfamiliar grassy plain, but I had no idea what I was running _from_. All I knew was that I was being pursued by something that wished to kill me at any cost, and I couldn't afford to slow down.

"Abby!" I heard a voice call from across the field, and I could see someone standing at the edge of the meadow. I recognized Jem's silver hair and slight build right away. Heedless of the danger that was fast approaching, I changed course and ran to Jem instead. He was holding out his arms, and I ran right into them, burying my face into his shoulder and pulling him as close to me as I could. His body heat was burning into mine, and I felt his lips gently brush the top of my head—

But he suddenly spun me around, shoving me away from him as Will had pushed me away the evening I'd first encountered them. I gasped in surprise, already prepared to ask what I had done wrong, when my eyes fell on a large brown spider hidden in the grass next to my feet. I knew instinctively that it was what had been chasing me, and I leapt back as it suddenly exploded into the enormous Greater Demon that was tracking me at the motel.

I tensed for an impact, waiting for death—or, indeed, just to be woken up, for some small part of me knew that I was dreaming—but when none came, I cautiously sat up, immediately looking for Jem. But there were now two gravestones in the spot where he had been standing. The inscriptions on them clearly read _Will Herondale_ and _Jem Carstairs._ "No!" I gasped, falling to my knees in front of Jem's grave. "I didn't even get to tell you that I've fallen for you—and I would even put up with Will if it meant I would get to see you again—"

But the gravestones sat quietly in the grass, and feeling half-mad, I began to scrabble at the dirt, as if I was somehow trying to dig up their bodies.

"There's no use, Abby."

I froze, staring blankly down at the ground. "Tessa?" I asked. "What—what are you doing here?"

She knelt down beside me, her skirts spread out across the ground, and put a small, soft hand on my shoulder. Her grey eyes were surprisingly warm. "The same reason you are. I loved him," she said simply, although I couldn't be sure whether she was talking about Will, Jem, or both of them. "You are lucky, Abby. One day you will die, and you will see him again. But I—I have eternity." A stricken expression crossed her face, and it was in that moment I realized that _she_ had been the girl I'd seen with Magnus. It was _Tessa._

"But surely there are ways of becoming mortal," I protested, wondering how the focus of my dream had suddenly switched from me to her.

Tessa shook her head slowly, sadly. "There is a terrible price to pay for it. Immortality is a curse, not a blessing. And you have even less time to spend with the people you love than I do. Sooner or later Henry will invent the Portal, and you will have to bid good-bye to Jem. Surely you do not have time to waste."

"Wait," I gasped. "How do you know that Henry is trying to invent a Portal? Do you know where—when I'm from?"

But Tessa didn't answer me. She reached out instead and gently traced the words on the gravestones; first Will's, then Jem's. "Tessa?" I asked, but this time she did not even look at me. A strange mist was beginning to whirl past us, and she briefly disappeared from my vision. When her silhouette next focused, she was no longer wearing a puffy Victorian dress but a pair of tightly-fitting jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Her dark brown hair tumbled down her back and she wore a pair of heels, but her face was still unchanged, untouched. Now I realized that there was a third grave present, standing beside Jem's. I didn't need to move any closer to see what it said:

_Abby Cartwright._

* * *

I shot straight up in bed, my heart thumping frantically and a scream at the ready, although mercifully it hadn't yet escaped my throat. Instead of a stark gravestone staring back at me, there were only the now-familiar outlines of the furniture in my bedroom at the Institute, a dull fire burning in the grate although it was June. That must have been the reason why my hair was soaked with sweat and perspiration dotted my brow.

But even as I settled back into bed, struggling to push the nightmare out of my mind, I could see that a weak purple light was beginning to shine in through the cracks in the curtains, and I could hear quiet footsteps walking down the hallway outside. It must be nearly morning.

When I adjusted my position in bed, rolling on to my other side, I noticed that my broken arm was bandaged up in a sling, though I couldn't remember anyone administering it to me. In fact, I couldn't remember anything after the carriage ride back from de Quincey's. Someone must have carried me up to my room and dressed me into my nightgown. A light flush crossed my cheeks as I thought of Jem, but in all likeliness it had been Sophie who had offered to help.

I was just about to close my eyes again and drift off into hopefully much more pleasant dreams when something stirred in the armchair next to my bed, and I sat up again, my mouth falling open as I realized that _Jem_ was curled up in the chair in a deep slumber, his cane resting against the arm of the chair. He appeared to be lost in sleep but his hands were moving slightly, as if he was dreaming about playing the violin. What was he doing _here?_ He was still in his fighting gear and I could see splotches of blood on his skin left over from the battle with the vampires.

"Jem?" I whispered softly, knowing that he was a light sleeper. But he didn't open his eyes, and I wondered if I should wake him.

The footsteps I had heard outside in the corridor came to a stop and a moment later there was a soft knock at the door. I glanced over at Jem, but he didn't so much as move an inch.

"Come in," I said quietly, hoping they would be able to hear me, and a moment later Sophie stepped in, carrying a breakfast tray. Her eyes immediately went over to Jem, and there was no mistaking the brief flash of pain that was clearly visible on her face.

But she was far too poised and professional to run out of the room, as I probably would have done, and instead walked calmly over to the table and placed the tray on it. "Good morning, Miss Abby," she said bravely. "I see that Master Jem is still here."

"Still here?" I asked. "You mean he's been here all night?"

She nodded. "He came in just before bed and said he wanted to make sure you were all right. I do not think he meant to fall asleep."

We both looked over at him, and I whispered, "I'm sorry, Sophie. I'm sure he would have done the same for you."

"Perhaps," she said after a short silence, and I was sure that she knew I was aware of her feelings for Jem.

"I have no chance with him, Sophie," I said quietly. "He'd never look at me when someone as pretty as you is around. I'm as plain as my taste in clothing. Besides, I'll eventually have to go back to my own time. I don't belong here and I…I don't belong with Jem."

Sophie pursed her lips, looking unconvinced. "You might find yourself wrong about that, miss."

I sank back into my pillows, feeling deflated. What did she mean? Was she doubting that I would ever get back to 1978? Henry hadn't mentioned anything about making progress on a Portal to me in days, and I wondered if Sophie knew something I didn't. Was that why Charlotte was letting me fight, because she knew that it wouldn't matter if I was injured or killed in battle because I would never be getting back to my own time anyway? "Sophie—" I began, but as I struggled to think of the correct way to phrase my question, I heard someone else walking down the corridor, their footfalls heavier and less recognizable than Sophie's. This time there was a loud, sharp knock on my door.

When Sophie opened it, she stepped back to reveal Will, dressed casually and looking uncaring as usual, but there was something harsh about the set of his mouth and the look in his eyes, as if he was trying very hard not to think about something. "I was just looking for Jem, and when he wasn't in his room, I should think it only logical that he would be in yours, future girl," he said, but now he was just speaking matter-of-factly, with no teasing tone at all in his voice.

"What on earth do you mean?" Sophie asked him, forgoing any attempt at civility.

Will didn't even look at her as he replied, "I think that shall be all, Sophie." With one last glance at Jem and I, she left the room, and I hoped she saw my apologetic look as she closed the door.

"Far be it from me to make any assumptions about etiquette, but isn't this most improper?" I adopted a snooty English accent, with some lame hope that I would be able to make him laugh. "Two gentlemen in a young lady's bedroom while she is in her nightclothes."

But Will didn't even smirk. "I shouldn't think that it's often happened to you." Leaving me to ponder whether it had been an intentional insult or not, he walked over to Jem and shook him by the arm surprisingly gently. "Get up, James. I require your assistance with an important matter."

"What matter?" I dared to ask, and wasn't surprised when Will didn't answer. I guessed that it was usually someone by Jem's bedside rather than him by someone else's bedside.

Jem slowly opened his eyes, looking dazed for a second. "Will?" he asked, staring at his _parabatai_.

"I take it Abby ordered you out of her bed?" Will asked cuttingly.

"He was never _in_ my bed!" I protested. "I didn't even know he was here until I woke up—"

Jem's head immediately snapped over to me, and I could see embarrassment cross his face. "By the Angel, Abby! I am so sorry. I did not mean to fall asleep. I just wished to make sure that you were all right…" His words grew even less coherent as he trailed off, his face now bright red. At least his shame meant that he was healthy—or rather, as healthy as he _could_ be with his illness—and he couldn't seem to meet my gaze.

"I'm fine, Jem," I told him, smiling as broadly as I could. It was a lie—my arm was still sore and my stomach churned every time I thought about how I had killed that vampire—but it wouldn't do to betray any sign of weakness in front of him or especially Will.

"Come _on_ , James," Will said impatiently, rising from the chair and starting toward the door. "Future girl can survive without you for the day. I desperately require your sound advice."

Jem rolled his eyes upward, as if asking for divine aid in handling Will, and flashed me another shy smile as he followed Will out of the room.

* * *

Charlotte came in to check on me later that morning, telling me that I could stay in bed for the rest of the day and let my arm heal, although I knew that she was far too preoccupied with everything else that was going on to spend much time on me. So, faced with a day of relative freedom, I had my breakfast and took a long, luxurious bath, leaning my head back against the tub and trying not to think about anything other than relaxation. When the water began to grow cold, I finally climbed out and let Sophie help me into a periwinkle blue dress that was, for once, not borrowed from Jessamine.

We didn't speak much at first; I could tell she was still upset about finding Jem in my room, and I had no idea how to broach the topic with her. "Sophie," I finally said as she was brushing my hair, "I want to apologize. I know how you feel about Jem, and please let me be the first to say that I understand completely. He is the most decent, compassionate person I have ever met."

"He is unlike anyone else," Sophie agreed. Our eyes met in the mirror, and she paused for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to tell me something or not. "My previous master was not so unique. When he did not get what he wanted…" Her hand reached up to brush her scar, and with a jolt I understood why Sophie hated Will so much: he reminded her of the family she had served before she had come to the Institute. The man who had scarred her must have been similar to Will. "Charlotte was incredibly generous for allowing me to work at the Institute."

"I don't think she was being generous," I replied softly. "I think she was just doing the right thing. You are every bit as decent as Jem is, Sophie, and I cannot think of anyone who deserves him better than you."

She smiled sadly, putting the brush down and stepping back. "Perhaps that is true, miss, but I am certainly not the one that he deserves."

* * *

After Sophie had left, I found that, for once, I was not craving solitude. I didn't wish to be in my own mind at the moment—there were too many things swirling around in my brain, from my conflicted feelings about Jem to the realization that I would see Tessa in the future to my mingled guilt and strange vindictiveness about killing that stupid nameless vampire…it was the first time I had ever not wanted to live in my own mind.

I thought briefly about going to the music room, but I could hardly play the piano with only one hand, and there was a high chance I would run into Will if I went to the library…so I settled for flipping through Dad's journal again. I hadn't touched it in days, and I'd found myself glancing at the picture of us less often than I used to. When I'd first arrived at the Institute, they had been my only links to my previous life. Now I was fast discovering that my time here was slowly but surely dissolving into a completely different scenario—in fact, I didn't feel much like _Abby_ anymore. When Andrew Lightwood had told me that it was impossible to turn back after one became a Shadowhunter, I'd secretly wondered how exaggerated he was being. Now I was learning firsthand that every word he had spoken had been the truth. Being a Shadowhunter was changing me. Perhaps it was the runes, the Vows, or even my newfound, although still severely limited, training. I was more in shape than I had ever been in my life.

And now, as I read through my father's journal, I began to imagine that there carried some trace, however miniscule, of regret that he'd had to leave the Clave to become a mundane. Reading between the lines, I could understand that he found his new life with Mom and I less eventful than he was used to, and I almost sympathized with him. There was certainly no shortage of excitement when one fought demons for a living. I'd never before thought about the number of times he had mentioned his wish that he could see his family and Marcus, his former _parabatai,_ again. As I came to the last entry, I wished I knew if he had ever managed to contact Brother Zachariah, whoever he was, and asked to speak to his loved ones again. I couldn't imagine any Silent Brother allowing such a thing to happen, but then again I was constantly being reminded of just how little I knew about the Shadow World. As I closed the journal for the countless time, I wondered how Marcus and my grandmother Abigail had reacted to Dad's death. Mom certainly hadn't taken it well—though she'd only known my father for two years and he had been killed when she was just eighteen, she hadn't so much as looked at another man romantically to my knowledge, despite being in her early thirties. "Your dad was the only one for me, Abby," she'd often said to me, a wistful look in her eyes. "I don't think I'm going to find anyone else."

Now, comparing her statement with my own feelings for Jem, I found I could sympathize with her for what was probably the very first time. I couldn't imagine going back to the future and finding another boy without constantly comparing him to Jem—but on the other hand, Mom hadn't known Dad was going to be killed. Even if I _did_ somehow enter into a relationship with Jem for whatever reasons, I knew ahead of time that he was going to die. Was that fair to him, since he would probably think that I was just doing it out of pity? Was that fair to _me_ , knowing I would be constantly wondering if he just wanted to experience romance before his death and I was the only one available?

Oh, well, I supposed there was always Tessa. I couldn't stop the bitter edge to my thoughts as I remembered the reverence in Jem's voice when he'd spoken about her the previous night, or his half-grin whenever they shared a secret joke.

As if she had been eavesdropping on my thoughts—I wouldn't be surprised if she had—there was, for the fourth time that day, a knock on my bedroom door. _I'm certainly popular now,_ I thought sarcastically, but stood up and went over to the door.

Lo and behold, the girl I'd just been thinking not-so-nicely about was standing right there, her hands clasped behind her and her grey eyes wide. "Hello, Abby," she said. "Sophie told me that you had injured your arm last night, and I wanted to make sure you were feeling better."

Damn it, was she psychic or something? She knew exactly what to say to make me feel guilty. "Um, thanks," I said, opening the door wider and stepping aside. "Why don't you come in?" _So I won't be staring at Jem's door the entire time._

Luckily, Tessa walked in and perched on the same chair that Jem had been sleeping in. Her brown hair was pulled up in its usual bun and she was wearing one of the dresses that she had bought on our outing with Jessamine. "I would have visited sooner, but I only awoke an hour ago," she explained as I sat on the edge of my bed across from her. "It was a rather…eventful night."

I nodded in agreement. "How is Nathaniel?" I inquired politely. "Charlotte mentioned he was beginning to recover."

"I hope so," Tessa said worriedly, and I noticed her hand reach for her clockwork angel necklace, as if it was an unconscious gesture of comfort. "Jessamine is taking care of him."

" _Jessamine?_ "

"Yes." Tessa's lips quirked at my astonishment. "She appears to be quite…fascinated with him." Her tone of voice made it clear that she did not understand the other girl at all.

"Well," I replied, scrambling for something witty to say, "I suppose it is only fair that I can tease her about that now, as she earlier teased me."

Tessa's eyes widened slightly. "Ah. I do recall her mentioning that you…care for Jem."

I had to look away, unable to meet her stare. "Please don't tell anyone about this. I've only just recently realized it, and I'm unbelievably upset that Jessamine has noticed."

"I would not dream of it," she said, and something in her voice made me believe that she was sincere.

"And I can never even tell Jem himself, because it's impossible for us to, well, have any sort of relationship or…or courtship. He's better off with Sophie." Some part of me was aware that I was babbling, but it felt so _good_ to talk to someone about it, as if a huge, heavy weight had just been lifted off my chest.

Tessa's brows furrowed and she leaned forward slightly, her bright eyes catching mine and holding me in place. "Why do you believe that? Surely you and Jem would make quite an attractive couple. You are both extraordinarily helpful and courteous."

"I am?" I stuttered. "But, um, let's just say that there are certain extenuating circumstances to my situation. You see…" _Tell her now, Abby. You have nothing to lose, and besides, Jem has probably told her about his illness anyway. Why are you the only one keeping secrets? She's going to find out sooner or later._ "I'm…it's kind of a funny story, actually, but…oh, what am I saying? It's not a funny story unless your name is Will Herondale." I let out a long breath and, staring over at my purse, I blurted out, "I'm from the future."

Whatever Tessa had expected me to say, it was obviously not this. She stared at me for a full thirty seconds, her mouth slightly open as if she had forgotten what her answer would be. "The…the _future?_ " she asked in a strangled voice.

"Yeah. You've probably realized that I act a bit strange from time to time. I'm from the year 1978. Remember when I was telling you about the Golden Gate Bridge? It won't exist for another sixty years. Anyway, I was somehow transported here by a Portal, which sadly hasn't been invented yet, and Charlotte is allowing me to train as a Shadowhunter while Henry is trying to invent a Portal himself." I gave her a tiny smile when I was finished, as if that would somehow lessen the utter shock of being told that someone you had previously thought was merely eccentric was actually a time-traveller. Accidental, of course, but still…

Tessa was blinking in shock, and for a moment I thought she was going to scream at me for lying to her. But inside she burst out, "You sound exactly like a heroine in a novel on some great adventure!" And she then proceeded to pepper me with questions that I tried to answer as best as I could while she listened in awe. But I didn't tell her about seeing her and Magnus. I couldn't.

"So that's why I can't be with Jem," I explained when I'd finished. "I'm from the future and he's very ill. There was a never a worse match."

Something flitted across Tessa's face, as if she could see fault with my words. But it was gone as quickly as it had come and she asked, "Why not bring Jem to the future with you and see if a cure has been found for him there?"

"I doubt it has," I sighed. "I don't want to risk that chance, and there's a possibility that it might be too late even before Henry manages to invent anything closely resembling a Portal." Quickly tearing my mind from that disastrous outcome, I added, "Besides, I can't separate him and Will."

Tessa's eyes darkened at the mention of Will. "What is it?" I asked, hoping that she would tell me—I felt as if my confession had broken some invisible wall between us, and it was steadily becoming more challenging for me to muster up a feeling of jealousy for her.

"Last night," Tessa began, though not without a bit of hesitation, "I offered to bring some holy water up to Will since he ingested vampire blood. He was acting rather…strange, and our conversation ended in a kiss."

This revelation was even more shocking than waking up to find Jem sleeping in my room; I couldn't imagine Will Herondale kissing anyone, although his regard for Tessa had been obvious even to my untrained eye. "You kissed Will?" I echoed, letting out a low whistle.

"Yes. And then he pushed me away. He was quite rude to me." Tessa wasn't able to hide the fact she was upset at this slight, and I patted her arm as reassuringly as I could.

"I don't understand Will nearly as much as I'd like to, or even as much as Jem does, but I can say that he definitely does care for you. He finds you fascinating, but I don't know why he pushes everyone away. Maybe he has some deep, dark secret like the heroes in the novels you read," I teased her.

Tessa looked affronted, suddenly snapping out of her musing and turning back to me. "I once thought that Will could be a hero. But last night it became clear to me he is anything but one. No, if there is a true hero in this Institute, it is Jem."

I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair. "Jem," I repeated, the syllable sounding almost reverent in my voice, and I mentally smacked myself.

Tessa leveled me with one of her piercing stares. "Yes," she said, all businesslike now. "You ought to tell him how you feel about him, Abby. He deserves to love, and be loved, as much as possible before he cannot have either."

I winced. "But I don't love him. I have only known him for two weeks."

"Neither of you have much time," Tessa replied, and her voice turned gentler. "Jem is extraordinarily lucky to have two wonderful people such as Sophie and yourself to care for him."

"Oh, Tess," I sighed. "And I daresay that you are exactly what Will needs. He has not insulted me near as much since you have arrived."

Tessa jutted out her chin slightly in that determined manner of hers. "I do not think Will needs anything from anyone, save for a new personality."

I laughed, watching a small smile cross her face. It was only then I realized how late it was, and we'd been talking for nearly half an hour. "Tessa, I'm sorry," I apologized, jumping out of my chair and looking over at the clock. "It's nearly midnight and you must want to see your brother."

She looked slightly startled too, as if she had lost track of time as well. "Please do not despair, Abby. I should think that it would ease your mind and heart if you were to confess to Jem how you really felt."

"What about Sophie?" I asked dully, watching Tessa stand up and walk over to the door.

"Sophie shall never tell Jem what she feels, even if he is on his deathbed. She believes herself inferior to him, although it is not true. She does not realize of Thomas's regard for her."

I lapsed into silence, knowing that she was right. Tessa moved to leave, but not before turning back to me and saying, "You are the heroine of your story, Abby. You should not stay a passive player, even if you are where you do not belong." And with another smile, she was gone, leaving me to wonder exactly what it was that she meant.

True, I hadn't told her about seeing Nathaniel at the Pandemonium Club—but that wasn't something she needed to know, anyway. I had instead explained my situation to her, and she in return had confessed something private to me as well. We'd only known each other for a few days, and indeed had not spoken very often, but I wondered if in the midst of all those knowing glances and grins whenever Jessamine said something ridiculous, we had fashioned a friendship anyway.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, I wasn't able to fall asleep that night, and felt horribly trapped in my bedroom. I didn't want to sleep, but didn't want to wake the entire Institute up by playing the piano, either. It was well after two o'clock when I rose and pulled on a dressing-gown over my nightclothes, grabbing a witchlight and slipping out of the room.

The Institute was darker and more foreboding than I had ever seen it, and no sound emanated from inside any of the rooms. Despite the witchlight in my hand and the torches on the walls, the darkness was almost crushing. I found myself relieved when I reached the kitchen and placed the witchlight on the table in my search for a midnight snack.

"Drowning your sorrows?" a mocking voice asked from behind me, and I slowly turned around to see Will standing against the wall, looking disgruntled as usual.

"I have no sorrows to drown," I muttered, reaching into the cupboard to pull out a slice of bread and butter it.

"Then I would never have guessed you were a masochist, future girl," Will replied. There was a wicked spark in his eyes. "You are always upset over some problem or another."

"What are you talking about?" I asked through a mouthful of bread. "Shouldn't you be with Jem?"

" _Jem_ ," Will repeated, "Has gone to comfort our resident warlock. She does not like the idea of us touching her dear, sweet brother, and told us in no uncertain terms not to follow her before stalking away. Of course he followed her, and where they are now is anybody's guess."

I tried not to show any signs of jealousy, though it was hard to miss the audible clenching of my teeth. And just when I'd been thinking Tessa could be trusted…then again, it was Jem who had gone after her, not the other way around.

"That bothers you, doesn't it?" he asked in a quieter tone; I didn't look up at him. "You wish that he would run after you if you ever had the bravery to stalk out of a room."

"What makes you think it bothers me?" I muttered. "I think of Jem as a good friend, nothing more."

"Then the definition of a friend must change sometime in the next hundred years, for a _friend_ most certainly does not blush whenever one looks at them, or is unable to take their eyes away from them."

I dropped the butter knife I'd been holding, where it clattered loudly to the counter. " _Don't tell him_."

"Oh, I won't," Will answered, all seriousness now. "If Jem does learn of your feelings and falls in love in return, he will give his entire being to you, and he does not deserve to be thrown away on a silly girl's passing fancy."

"What makes you think it's a passing fancy?" I retorted—but if I was honest with myself, my conversation with Tessa had made me doubt that it was. There was something deeper to my feelings with Jem than there had been with any other boy; it had an almost sacred aspect to it.

"You have only known him for a fortnight, and he was the first person to be kind to you, so you latched on to him instinctively." Will's eyes were hard. "You will have to leave him someday. You don't belong here, Abby."

"No. You believe that I merely feel sorry for him. You do not think I am good enough for Jem."

"I think that you will break his heart," retorted Will. "When you have proven that you are worthy of him, I shall give you my blessing."

I could feel tears blurring my eyes, and I bravely muttered, " _You're_ one to talk, with the way you treat Tessa."

For once, Will looked taken aback, and I took this as my opportunity to stand up and walk away. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I am merely _leaving_ the room, for as you said, I do not have the bravery to stalk out." I was sure my voice was shaking as I turned around and left the kitchen without looking back.

I hated him for putting the truth into words—that I didn't deserve Jem—and I should just forget about him. A part of me was furious at Will, but a much larger part was furious at myself for not believing them.


	14. Fourteen

**I** had barely put one foot on the staircase when I heard a muffled but audible thud in the distance. It sounded like something was banging against the front doors. I paused and turned toward the noise, wondering whether I should go to investigate or wait for someone else to answer it.

But then the noise sounded again, and after waiting for a moment it became clear that no one was going to come to my rescue and make my decision for me, so I had no choice but to trudge slowly toward the doors, reaching for the seraph blade that I'd hidden in the folds of my dress. Jem had advised me never to go anywhere from now on without some sort of weapon, and I found myself suddenly grateful that I'd listened to him.

I could hear several more loud thuds as I drew closer to the doors; it sounded as if someone was banging frantically on it. As I paused, wondering if it was a trap, I dimly heard Tessa's voice cry, "Get away from him!" and, my eyes widening, I threw open the door, the light from the corridor flooding out into the churchyard.

But the sight that I was met with was far from holy. Abandoning all "proper" language, I shrieked, "Oh my God!" and jumped back, staggering against the doors. Tessa was brandishing Jem's cane, standing feet from a tall, spindly creature that vaguely resembled a human, but in a twisted, horror-movie sort of way: although it had arms, legs and was wearing clothes, it had no _face_ aside from vague slashes where its eyes and mouth should be, as if its creator hadn't bothered to make it realistic.

These must be the automatons that Charlotte and Henry had been talking about-de Quincey's clockwork creatures.

And they were _terrifying._

"Will—Charlotte—Henry—someone help!" I cried, silently cursing my broken arm, and tossed my seraph blade at the creature while Tessa slashed at it with her cane. But neither of us could put up an adequate fight against it—the blade literally bounced right off it with a small shower of sparks, and before our incredulous eyes it grabbed Jem's cane and snapped it in two over its knee. With a horrifying realization I knew that could just as easily have been me.

Paying no attention to my injured arm, I snatched up my seraph blade again and dug it right into the automaton's side. It staggered back but only a few paces, and yanked the blade out of its body, dropping it carelessly to the steps.

Something closed around my throat, and I began to splutter and choke, the oxygen being squeezed out of my body as another automaton rose up out of nowhere and pinned me to the wall. I hadn't noticed that there were at least five of them in the yard—but damn it I couldn't breathe—it was exactly like the time I'd nearly drowned in the Thames—

Through my watering eyes, I saw Tessa rise up behind the creature and cuff it over the head with one of the halves of Jem's now-broken cane. The pressure on my throat abruptly ceased, and I staggered backward, gasping.

"If you're going to fight, future girl, you might as well do it with a functional weapon," a voice hissed in my ear, and Will shoved a circular metal desk into my hand. I turned, still dazed, to see that Charlotte, Henry, Thomas and Will were all standing on the front steps, fiercely battling the clockwork creatures. All of them looked utterly intent and focused, the automatons falling one by one in a surge of blue sparks. As Will turned to Tessa, shouting something at her that I couldn't hear, I blindly threw the disk that I'd been given; unfortunately, my balance was still off as I hadn't had any time to draw runes on myself, and it soared through the air, hacking off one of the automaton's arms but not dissembling it. Henry immediately came to my rescue, finishing it off by slicing its head completely off.

When it fell, the last two automatons both froze, the gears whirring, before simultaneously turning around and running out of the gates. Henry and Charlotte immediately went after them, but Will, Tessa and I all stayed still, as if we had been frozen. The ground was littered with carnage, black liquid running down the steps and dripping onto the grass like blood, and it was only then that I realized my broken arm was blazing with pain; the shock must be wearing off. Wincing, I turned back to Tessa to ask her what had happened—and I saw a crumpled figure lying on the other side of the steps. _Jem._ I'd been so preoccupied with the fight that I had completely forgotten that he had to have been around somewhere.

Ducking around Tessa and Will, I ran to Jem's side, dropping to my knees beside him. He was breathing very shallowly and blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. A surge of horror went through me, and I reached out for his shoulder, my hands shaking. As my fingers brushed his shirt, his eyes slowly fluttered open—his eyes were huge and silver, the pupil nearly swallowed up by the iris. "Abby," he whispered, his voice thick. "You're bleeding."

I impatiently wiped my chin with my hand—when the automaton had grabbed my throat, it had managed to slice my jaw in the process. "Not as much as you," I said with a shaky laugh. Jem's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head, and he went slack on the ground, his arm going limp under my hand.

"Abby, _move_ ," I heard Will hiss from behind me, his voice taut with urgency, and I obediently straightened up and stepped back as he threw one of Jem's arms over his shoulders, Thomas supporting Jem's other side, and the two of them hurried him into the Institute with nary a glance back at me.

I had never felt so useless as I watched them disappear inside, my heart sinking. Trudging back over to Tessa, who was looking just as shellshocked as I was, I picked up my seraph blade and stuck it back into my pocket, not caring that I was staining my dress. "What happened?" I asked her, barely able to get my mouth to say the words.

She glanced over at me, looking anguished. "We were at Blackfriars Bridge and the automatons chased us back here. One of them said that they were going to take revenge on Shadowhunters for what happened at de Quincey's."

"By the Angel," I murmured, but it was more an exclamation of mingled anger and pain than fear. Jem had taken _her_ to Blackfriars Bridge? I imagined the two of them leaning against the rail, talking under the moonlight, and felt another sickening surge of jealousy. I knew it was silly, but I had always thought of the bridge as Jem's and mine, not Jem's and Tessa's. "Well," I managed to sigh, hoping that she would think I was talking about the automatons, "That's certainly terrible."

"Go after Jem ," Tessa told me quietly. "He…he would rather wake up to see you than me. Just before he fainted, he called me Abby."

Now my heart leapt right into my throat. I was sure I'd stopped breathing for a second as I gasped, "He did?"

She nodded. "He called, _Abby, look out,_ and then collapsed. And he told me on the bridge that—"

"Miss Tessa and Miss Abby!" I dimly heard Sophie call from the front doors, and we both snapped back to attention as she ran over to us, holding a lantern. "Are you all right?"

Tessa and I exchanged a glance. "Yes, we are both fine," she replied, although it was clear that we both _weren't_ : my arm was dangling limply at my side and my jaw was still bleeding, while Tessa had a cut slashed across her forehead.

Of course Sophie didn't buy this, and led us into the Institute, closing the door on the strewed remains of the slain clockwork creatures. I felt vaguely sorry for whoever would have to clean up the mess.

The next few minutes passed by in a sort of haze, like an out-of-body experience. I barely noticed the pain in my arm; in fact, I barely felt anything at all. I was dimly aware that Tessa and I were both sitting in armchairs in the drawing-room and that I'd been passed a warm drink that reeked of brandy, but as I gingerly sipped it I began to wonder if the walls were supposed to be blurring like that. Charlotte and Henry eventually reappeared back inside, and I knew that Tessa was explaining what had happened to them in a halted voice, something about the Magister and creatures born of neither Heaven or Hell and a spell binding demon energy to the automatons—but it hardly mattered. None of it mattered anymore. I was useless, just as Will had once told me. Not only did I have a broken arm, I could barely fight. I would be their easiest target.

As I drank more of the brandy, the room began to shift back into focus again—a development that wasn't entirely welcome. The refocusing of my senses meant that my thoughts were clearing, and I did not want to have a better picture of Jem and Tessa standing on Blackfriars Bridge.

Someone stepped into the room, and I didn't need to look up to know it was Will. There was a single slash of blood across his white shirt, but I had no way of knowing if it was his or Jem's. His eyes met mine for a single second before we both broke our gaze at the same time.

"He wants to talk to you," Will said. But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Tessa.

I stared blindly down into my glass, unable to watch Tessa as she stood up and followed Will out of the room. Sophie, Henry and Charlotte were all speaking quietly around me, but I couldn't concentrate on their conversation.

"Abby," I heard Charlotte say softly, and I blinked to see her kneeling in front of me, her expression kind. "You did very well tonight. Your arm should heal quickly—"

"Why is everyone telling me I'm doing well?" I suddenly shouted, leaping out of the chair. The brandy must be affecting me even more than I thought. "I'm _not_ doing well, and everybody knows it. God, I shouldn't even be here. I'm just something else distracting you from running the Institute. Maybe I should tell the Clave after all. I'll find somewhere else to live. You all have been very generous to me, but I know that you don't want me here." And then I ran out of the room for the second time that night, again so that nobody would see me cry.

I flew down the hallway and up the staircase in case any of them tried to follow me, but to my mild surprise I wasn't pursued. Perhaps Charlotte sensed that I needed to be alone right now—but already I was feeling guilty for shouting at them. It wasn't their fault. And now my outburst would make her worry about me even more.

I finally slumped against the wall, not having the strength to reach my room. I was still so overwhelmed by the fight at de Quincey's and then the battle with the automatons, not to mention my jealousy with Tessa and my anxiety about Jem. I had been thrown into this world so abruptly that I hadn't had time to even form any semblance of footing. Maybe I should have taken up Andrew Lightwood on his offer when I was twelve and become a Shadowhunter then. At least now I would have some idea what I was supposed to.

I sat quietly in the shadows for a long while before I heard footsteps walking toward me. I was beyond the point of caring who saw me now, and could only manage a feeling of apathy when I recognized Will's boots. For a moment I thought he was going to walk right past me, but he stopped at the last moment and stared down at me. "What is it now, future girl?" he asked, and there was something like a sigh in his voice.

"Why should I tell you? It's not like you'd care," I mumbled, angrily wiping away the tears from my face.

Will was silent for a long moment, and then he said, "Jem wanted to explain himself to Tessa." His tone made it clear that he was not at all pleased about this fact.

"Explain what?" I said dully. "His undying love for her?"

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "Of course not. He thinks it is his duty to tell her why he collapsed."

"Oh," I said in a small voice. So Jem _hadn't_ told her yet. I was slightly surprised; he had told me almost right off the bat.

Not liking the way he was towering over me in a superior manner, I leaned forward, preparing to stand and use my good arm as leverage. But Will stuck his hand toward me instead, and I stopped, staring dumbly at him.

"Usually holding out one's hand means that the other person is supposed to take it," Will drawled. It took me another moment before I was able to recover enough from the shock to hesitantly grab it.

He pulled me to my feet in one easy movement before stepping back and beginning to stride back down the corridor. "Follow me," he called without looking over his shoulder.

"Huh? Why?" I asked, but gathered up my skirts and limped after him anyway; I was curious about this new Will, as strangely as he was acting.

"You don't want to upset Sophie by bleeding all over the floor," he explained, but it was impossible to miss the sardonic tone in his voice. "Unless, of course, you believe it's an improvement on your looks—a view which I must say that I rather agree with—"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," I interrupted, inwardly marveling at my newfound courage. Then again, it was rather difficult to meekly sit back and listen to him when I could take my frustration out on someone who deserved it. "Listen, is Jem going to be all right? Surely he's been like this before…"

Will finally turned his head and gave me a shrewd look. "Yes, he's going to be fine," he replied shortly. _For now,_ I couldn't help but think, and wondered if Will was thinking the same thing.

* * *

In much the same manner as he had led me to the library before I'd taken my Vows, he brought me through an unfamiliar part of the Institute—although _exactly_ how it was unfamiliar I couldn't tell, since all the corridors seemed to blend into one long mass—and through a pair of elaborate double doors into what I vaguely recognized as the infirmary. There was a long row of beds placed against the wall, and the curtains were drawn, leaving the room in near-darkness save for a glowing candle on one of the tables. Will pulled out a witchlight from his pocket and it immediately flared up, bathing his face in an eerie glow. I stood awkwardly in the door, unsure what I was supposed to do. But for once, he didn't make a cruel remark—instead, he walked back over to me, holding out his stele. I flinched, but he just rolled his eyes and grabbed my arm, lightly drawing an _iratze_ on the skin. Almost immediately, I felt the pain disappear and my arm felt as good as new, if not a bit stiff. Before I could stutter out a thanks, he grabbed my jaw tightly in his hand and drew another healing rune onto my face. The flow of blood from the wound stopped, and I was healed again.

"Thank you," I said awkwardly, not wanting to show any gratitude to this boy whose comments to me often came very close to verbal abuse. But then there were the rare times where he seemed almost _human_ , like today.

Will looked darkly amused, as if he could read my thoughts, and trudged over to the corner of the room, where he lugged out a wooden pail filled with water. As I watched him with a frown, trying to figure out what he was doing, he knelt down and submerged his entire head in the water, soaking his shirt as well as his hair. When he straightened up his hair was dripping wet and drip onto the ground, soaking the stone floor.

"Why did you try to fight if you were injured?" he asked me starkly, his blue eyes just as penetrating as Tessa's grey ones.

I paused, taken aback by the unpredicted question. "Jem and Tessa were out there," I said indignantly. "I couldn't just stand back and leave him—them."

Will was looking at me strangely, but I barely noticed. I _hadn't_ given any thought to running right out there, hadn't I? And I hadn't run back inside the Institute when I'd seen the automatons, as I would have expected myself to do. No, I'd just gone straight outside with my only thought being that I couldn't leave Jem and Tessa to fight those creatures alone. Was this just a lingering side-effect of the runes, or was it a deeper change?

Meanwhile, to my disbelief and discomfort, Will had unbuttoned his bloodstained shirt and was now reaching for another one, which he appeared to pull out of nowhere.

And that was when I realized he was testing me. I didn't know why or what exactly he wanted to find, but something about this was intentional on his part. Was he trying to gauge whether I found him desirable too? I swallowed hard, wishing that Tessa was here to lighten the mood. Then again, she would probably be trying to look away from Will's bare chest even harder than I was.

"You're doing better than I thought you would, future girl," he said as he pulled on the other shirt and strode to the door, for once holding it open for me. "Most other women would have swooned by now."

I swallowed hard. "They must not have seen many men in their lives, then."

I wasn't even sure myself what I was saying, but it seemed to amuse Will, for he chuckled darkly as we walked back down the shadowed corridor. "The lady hath slayed me," he mock-gasped, putting a hand to his heart.

"Unfortunately only metaphorically," I muttered, wondering if this wasn't actually Tessa disguised as Will for some reason. He had never acted so spirited toward me.

I was so busy wondering if hell had suddenly frozen over that I didn't even notice when we stopped outside my door. Will was already moving toward Jem's room as if he had forgotten about me already, and I watched him warily out of the corner of my eye, unsure whether to ask him the question that was currently weighing on my mind. "Why did you test me?"

He laughed once. "Is that how you see it?"

I licked my lips nervously. "Then what should I see?"

Will sneered. "Well, then I suppose I could say that you've passed the first test." And then he had disappeared back into Jem's room, closing the door smartly behind him.

I had no choice but to trudge into my own room, wondering if the brandy was even stronger than I had originally thought and I had just imagined that entire conversation.

* * *

Loud, urgent voices woke me the next day, and I groggily rolled over in bed, opening one eye and expecting to see Sophie opening the curtains and laying my dress out on the chair. But I was alone in my room and bright light shone in through the cracks in the blinds—I guessed it was afternoon. By the Angel, had I really slept that long?

The voices outside had grown ever more insistent and higher-pitched, as if they'd now escalated into an argument. Sighing to myself, I pushed myself out of bed and stood up, not caring that I was still wearing my dress from the night before that had blood and automaton fluid all over it. But I opened the door to catch the tail end of the quarrel: Tessa and Jessamine were just disappearing around the corner, locked in an intense conversation. What on earth could have gotten them so upset?

Across the corridor, Sophie, wearing a very worried expression, slipped out of Jem's room and hurried after the two girls with nary a glance in my direction. I felt a pang of worry: something must be wrong. I should go after them…but on the other hand, she had left Jem's door slightly ajar and that was far too tempting to ignore.

Trying to push the thought of Will's knowing smirk and Tessa's quiet pity out of my mind, I crept across the hall and hesitantly peered around the door, unsure what I would see inside.

Jem was lying very still, his breathing so shallow that I had to check to make sure he _was_ actually still alive. His face with a deathly pale and there were grey shadows on his eyelids. I could see his pulse beating in his throat, and for the first time it struck me just how fragile he was. I felt as if he would crumble at the slightest touch, like parchment.

Much later, I would look back on this moment and marvel exactly what caused me to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, feeling his burning, feverish skin against my fingers. I wondered how high his fever was, and if he was having difficulty sleeping. Maybe I should run up to the infirmary and get him some cold water—

But as I turned away, mentally running over my options, his fingers closed over my wrist, holding them in a deceptively strong grip. My breath caught as I turned back around to face him. His eyes weren't open, but they were fluttering madly as if he was dreaming. "Please don't leave," he murmured, and I wasn't sure whether he thought I was Will, Tessa, or someone else entirely.

"Jem?" I whispered as carefully as I had the previous morning when I'd found him asleep in my room, kneeling down at his bedside. His skin was hot against mine, the _yin fen_ racing through his veins like fire. I stared down at the inside of his wrist, where the blue veins stood out prominently against his papery skin.

He moved my hand back up to his face, still moving in that dreamlike state, and brought my fingers to his lips. A shudder ran through me at the feeling of his mouth against my skin, and his breath was warm against my fingertips. Jem's eyes slowly flickered open and fixed on mine; they weren't as brightly silver as they had been last night, but they were still larger than normal. "Is this a dream?" he asked, and every vibration of his voice sent shivers through my entire body.

I couldn't muster up an answer; in fact, I was sure that I couldn't even _move_. All I knew was that my mouth was hanging open and my eyes were wider than saucers.

Jem's other hand was suddenly cupping my face, his thumb rubbing against my jaw where the automaton had slashed me. I hadn't even noticed him moving, so unaware was I of my surroundings. "Abby," he breathed, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, sending yet another jolt through my entire being. A tiny smile had appeared on his lips, and I wondered if he was able to hear my heart, which was as loud as a jackhammer.

For the second time that afternoon, there was a loud noise from outside—only this one was of an annoyed growl instead of intelligible words. Even as preoccupied as I was, I recognized Jessamine's voice right away, and felt a wave of exasperation and irritation.

Jem suddenly jerked back, his hand falling away from my face. I took a hasty step back from the bed as his eyes focused, landing on me with a mixture of bewilderment and still half-caught in troubled sleep. "It wasn't a dream," I said softly.

Now he looked trapped, as if he wished to be anywhere but here. "I should not have taken such liberties. I did not mean to—" He was visibly flustered, his eyes widening with each word. So he was embarrassed that he had acted in such a way toward me. I didn't blame him. He must think that he had said something he didn't truly mean.

"Jem, please don't," I said, turning away from him. "I just wished to see if you were feeling all right."

"Yes, I am quite well," he replied as he slowly climbed out of bed. I noticed he was still very pale and peaky, but I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from advising him to rest; he knew his limits much better than I did.

As I drew back, I saw that his cane was leaning against the edge of his bed, intact and whole again. I smiled, walking over to it and placing my hand on the dragon's head. It felt sturdy and reliable under my fingers, and I rather admired Jem for having such an interesting possession. Henry must have repaired it during the night.

"I'm jealous of your cane—um, Jem?" I asked, and my mouth went very dry as I saw that he was changing his shirt and wasn't paying attention to me at all. I quickly glanced away, as embarrassed as if I'd seen him completely undressed. God, what was wrong with me? I hadn't been like this when Will had been shirtless last night. But then again, the outline of Will's ribs hadn't been visible against his shirt, and he wasn't so thin that he seemed almost skeletal—

Jem froze, and I continued to stare at the floor, an awkward silence springing up between us. It was, by all accounts, nothing of importance or consequence even in the Victorian era, but I could already feel my face turning red. Seeing Will had been something that I could admire objectively, the way one could acknowledge a movie star's looks but not be in any way attracted to them—but Jem was completely different. He wasn't as rugged or classically handsome as his _parabatai,_ but something about him made me forget about everyone else.

"I apologize, Abby, I did not think you would mind," he said immediately. I knew I _shouldn't_ mind—especially considering the era I came from—but the awkwardness stretched on.

"I don't," I mumbled, far too late for it to be any sort of honest response. "I'm just…thinking about something else."

It was a blatant lie, but Jem seemed to relax slightly. He tried to button up his shirt, but his fingers were trembling too hard to do it properly. Concerned, I forgot my uneasiness and stepped over to him. "Do you need more of the drug?"

"No, it's not the drug," he said, and flushed even more than he already was.

We stood silent for another moment, and I felt slightly dizzy, as if I was teetering on the edge of a precipice. I could feel his eyes on me, and I was dimly aware that I was very obviously staring at his chest—so painfully thin—but I couldn't look away.

And then I dimly heard Charlotte's voice in the hallway. "Jessie, is Jem still in bed?" she asked.

" _I_ don't know," Jessamine said rudely. "Why would I be checking on him?"

Charlotte sighed. "Fine, then, I'll do it." Her quick, sure footsteps began to head toward the door, and I inwardly gulped at the thought of her catching us in such a compromising position. Jem still seemed unable to move, so in a burst of daring I reached out and quickly buttoned up his shirt myself, my fingers accidentally touching his bare skin. His eyes closed briefly, and in my haste I nearly scratched him, unaware that my fingers were shaking myself.

I stepped back just as there was a tap on the door and Charlotte poked her head in. "Oh, there you are," she said in a tone that suggested she had expected to see me in Jem's room. "Nathaniel went missing for a while, but Thomas has found him. He is going to tell us his story now, if you would care to listen."

"Of course," Jem said mildly. I nodded mutely in response.

"And Abby, Sophie is waiting to assist you now." I presumed she meant that I should wash my hair and change into a new dress, so I nodded again, feeling like a bobblehead doll, and began to leave the room. Satisfied, Charlotte turned to leave as well, and I heard her scolding Jessamine, although I couldn't quite hear what it was about.

But I had just reached the door when I felt Jem's hand lightly close around my arm, drawing me back toward him. I automatically turned at his touch, and was hyperaware that we were standing so close I could feel his breath on my neck. "Y—yes?" I asked him, fighting to keep my voice and breathing level. If I had been a more courageous person, like Tessa, I would have leaned forward and kissed him right then and there.

"Wait," Jem said, and cleared his throat nervously, his eyes darting from side to side as if he couldn't meet my gaze either. "Abby, there is something I wish to tell you."

Could this have something to do with what Tessa had told me he'd been saying on the bridge? "Sure, Jem," I answered, my mind wildly rushing through all the possibilities. Was he going to tell me that he was sick of me and wished to pass my training on to someone else? "You can tell me anything."

He was visibly sweating, little droplets clinging to his temples and forehead. But just as he opened his mouth, I heard my door creak open from across the hallway. "Miss Abby?" Sophie called.

Jem instantly dropped my wrist, giving me a shy smile. "Never mind," he said, and my heart sank right down into my toes. "I do not want to keep you waiting."

"You're not," I protested, but he had already turned back from the door; from _me._ I had no other option but to leave his room, wondering what could have been so important.


	15. Fifteen

**B** y the time my hair had been washed, I was wearing a clean dress, and I'd eaten a good meal, it was nearly dinnertime. The others must have completely forgotten about me by now; I wouldn't have been surprised if they had discovered and subsequently fought de Quincey in the meantime. I kept going over Jem's earlier words to me; what had he wanted to say? And what had he told Tessa on the bridge? It was impossible that he had any feelings for me…perhaps he had confessed that he disliked me and she wanted to break the news gently. No wonder Will was so distrusting of me; he thought that my "little crush" on Jem was childish and pathetic. Maybe it was.

Sophie had barely said a word to me the entire afternoon, although I had tried to make conversation. A part of me felt uncomfortably guilty that she had likely overheard Jem and I speaking in his room. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't what she was thinking at all, but my quota of bravado appeared to have been exhausted for the day, and I couldn't say the words.

The grandfather clock in the drawing-room was just chiming six as I arrived downstairs, listening to the low but excited murmur of voices just behind the door. I heard Tessa's calm, soothing tone, and then a semi-familiar man—Nathaniel—but before I could quietly slip inside I heard Jem saying, "I can check the lunar tables in the library. I'll be right back."

I stepped back from the door just as he went hurrying out, looking intent on something. In fact, he didn't appear to notice me at first, and I had to clear my throat and hurry after him in the direction from which I had just come. "Jem, what is it?" I asked, and I wasn't sure if his silver eyes widened because he was pleased to see me or he was just surprised that I'd managed to slip past him unnoticed.

"Tessa's brother has just explained to us how he came to be involved with the Pandemonium Club," he replied, and eagerly launched into an explanation of his own about what I had missed: apparently, Mr and Mrs Gray had been involved with the Pandemonium Club even before Tessa was born, and Nate, upon his discovery of the Shadow World, had headed straight for England, hoping to gamble, drink and become rich like the rest of the mundanes who had joined the club. When he had met de Quincey, the vampire had been disappointed: he had reason to believe that one of the Gray children was special, and once he'd realized that it most certainly wasn't Nate, he'd paid the boy to lure his younger sister to England.

At this point in time I'd interrupted Jem's story: "He sold out his sister?" I asked in disbelief, my respect of Nathaniel dropping lower by the second. I felt a wave of anger on Tessa's behalf.

Jem nodded, his expression just as upset as mine. "Once he agreed to send Tessa over, de Quincey kept Nathaniel locked up in his house—"

"Wait," I said, cutting him off yet again. "That can't be true. I saw him in the Pandemonium Club the night before she was rescued from the Dark Sisters."

Now Jem frowned. We had reached the library by now, and he pulled me inside, closing the door behind us with his foot. "You have? Why didn't you tell us?"

Somewhat sheepishly, I explained my embarrassment at becoming lost in the club and Nate's insistence that I had something tattooed on my arm. "I didn't want you to think of me as more of a coward than I already was, if I couldn't even get a mundane to leave me alone. I would have told you eventually." _Besides, I was too busy concentrating on that giant spider to pay much attention to anything else._

"Abby, I—" Jem began, and then broke off, turning away from me. "Never mind. Do not concern yourself with it." He strode purposefully over to a stand in the middle of the room, which was covered with indecipherable—at least to me—diagrams and pictures that I vaguely recognized as sketches of the solar system.

"So what happened after de Quincey locked him up?" I prodded after a moment, curious to hear the rest of the story.

Jem seemed preoccupied with interpreting the lunar charts—someone like Will would have told me in no uncertain terms to get lost—but he patiently obliged me: de Quincey despised Shadowhunters and their superior attitudes toward Downworlders, and he wished to build an army that would destroy the Nephilim so that he could rule London instead. He had hired the Dark Sisters to discover a way to bind demon energy to the automatons so they would be nearly impossible to destroy—although I was still confused as to what exactly he wanted with Tessa. Supposedly the spell that would bring the clockwork creatures to life would only work on the full moon, hence the reason why Jem was checking the lunar charts.

When he had finished his story, sounding slightly out of breath—I didn't blame him—I was silent for a long moment, watching his quick, steady hands moving swiftly across the diagrams as he traced the mess of lines, looking for an answer. I thought of the horrible creatures that had attacked the Institute last night, and couldn't suppress a shudder at the thought of facing more of them. Somehow they had been more frightening to me than the vampires were, despite the fact they weren't technically _alive_ at all.

Jem suddenly let out a sharp intake of breath, and I could see his hands tightening around the edges of the stand. "Is something wrong?" I asked him, but he just whirled around and rushed out of the room, pausing only to place his hand on my arm and pull me along with him. I was stupidly pleased even by the simple touch, but I was too concerned with the look on his face: for the first time since I'd met him, I saw a glimmer of unease in his eyes, made even worse by the hard way his mouth was set, as if he was steeling himself for something difficult.

At least he was moving much more quickly than he had been the previous night: he seemed to ghost across the corridors as we raced down them, his hand never leaving my arm.

I finally understood what he was upset about: "It's not tomorrow," Jem said, bursting into the drawing-room with me at his heels. "The full moon. It's tonight."

* * *

The next few minutes turned into organized chaos: Charlotte went to inform the Enclave about the situation, while Henry went off to the crypt to fetch the inventions he'd been working on—with a sharp pang of displeasure that I tried hard to stifle, I wondered if he'd even _thought_ about working on a Portal in the past days—and Jem and Will headed to the weapons room to gather gear and munitions for the Enclave. Tessa, Jessamine, Nate and I stayed in the drawing-room, where thankfully Nate didn't seem to recognize me at all. His gaze slid over me blankly, as if I didn't exist at all. I was used to these kinds of looks, in fact, and to tell the truth I found it quite easy to ignore him too.

Although I knew that Jem and Will wouldn't be going with the rest of the Enclave on the raid to de Quincey's purported hideaway in Chelsea, I couldn't help but wonder if Jem wished he could have gone. I would have bet everything I owned that Will would want to, but Jem was much more complicated in that respect. On one hand, he didn't seem the type to willingly walk right into the face of danger, but on the other he was a Shadowhunter and considered it his duty to do whatever was asked of him. And from there my mind began to wander to a scenario where I was injured and he had to rescue me…I was sure Will would be dragged kicking and screaming in _that_ situation, but Jem might be different…

"And I suppose _you've_ mastered the art of winning men's affections?" Jessamine snapped, and I whirled around to look at her, half-afraid that she was able to read my thoughts—but she was staring at Tessa, not me. "You think I haven't seen you looking at Will with puppy-dog eyes? As if he were even—Oh!" She flounced to the door, her blonde plaits falling out and her face bright red. "Never mind. You make me sick. I'm going to talk to Agatha without you. And I know you don't care how you look, but you ought to at least fix your hair, Tessa. It looks like birds are living in it!" With that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her so hard that the panes of glass in the windows rattled.

I glanced, shocked, toward Tessa, wanting to ask what had happened but not daring to speak. Nate seemed utterly uninterested in the conversation; in fact, he was staring vacantly down at the table as if it fascinated him. A moment later Tessa quietly ducked her head and slipped outside as well, her expression betraying nothing.

Not wanting to stay alone with Nate, and feeling a peculiar urge to comfort Tessa, I darted out of the room after her, but found myself alone in the hallway. She must have nearly run away.

I checked the library first, since it was her most likely refuge as well as being the closest to the drawing-room, but she was nowhere to be found. I figured that she must have gone all the way to her room, and wasn't disappointed when I saw that her door was slightly ajar. I raised my hand to the wood and knocked as unobtrusively as I could. "Tess?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't mind the nickname.

She came to the door a moment later, her face whiter than usual, with her hair curling freely around her neck and dripping wet, as if she had splashed her face with cold water. "What is it, Abby?" she answered, her voice taut with tension.

I blinked and stepped backward, unsure how to handle the delicate situation. "Jessamine didn't mean it," I began, although we both knew very well that she _had_. "She does not think before she speaks."

"Does anyone?" Tessa said wryly, but held her door open a bit wider. I took this as my invitation to step inside and did so, wringing my hands uncomfortably.

"I just wanted you to know that, um, you're ten times the person that Jessamine is, and you needn't be nervous. The Enclave will find and catch de Quincey, and you and Nate can go back home to New York as soon as all of this is over. Plus, I don't think your… _admiration_ of Will is that obvious." I spoke in a rush, ineloquent but hoping that I had gotten my point across. I was just amazed that I had used the word "needn't".

Tessa smiled thinly, as if she wanted to express her gratitude but didn't have the energy to muster up a true grin. "Thank you for the confidence, Abby," she sighed, walking over to her chair and beginning to drag a brush through her hair. "But I am not so optimistic. Nate is not the same brother who left New York." She paused. "Then again, I am not the same sister that he knew. I wonder if he can even recognize me."

"Of course he can," I soothed, walking over to her and placing my hands on the back of her chair. "He still calls you Tessie, doesn't he? And he was staring at you the entire time you were in the room. You're still family."

"I suppose," she said quietly, bowing her head and placing the brush back on the table. After a moment I reached out for it and took over the task of brushing her hair, feeling inexplicably like Sophie. But I felt like I had to be _doing_ something or I would run out of the room in discomfort. I didn't know if I should tell her what I had just told Jem about seeing Nate at the Pandemonium Club. "But truly, you are the only other person who can understand my plight, Abby. You have been uprooted from your family and everything you have ever known, thrust into this world of shadows and nightmares. And you have grown to care for the people you have met, even if they are…difficult."

I managed a wry grin as I began to plait her hair again, suddenly glad for the sleepovers I had gone to where I'd been forced to braid the other girls' hair. "I guess you're right. But at least…" I trailed off, not wanting to say _At least you have Nate_ and demeaning her troubles. But a small part of my mind wondered if she even had him.

Tessa gave a small gasp, reaching out to grab my arm as if she had just realized something. "I am sorry, Abby. I should not be speaking of my problems to you when you are suffering so greatly yourself. I speak of being distanced from a country, but you have been distanced from both your country and your time. I cannot imagine how I would bear such a burden. It must be terribly lonely."

"Well, it is," I admitted, biting my lower lip so I wouldn't begin to tear up. "But as you said, I have grown to care for the people here." _Most of them, at least._

"Henry will invent a Portal that can send you back home," Tessa said with that determined set to her chin, so stubbornly and resolutely that I almost believed her myself. "And if he doesn't, Jem and I—and Will—shall find a way."

"Will?" I asked, unable to suppress a grimace.

"Yes," Tessa replied, with all the conviction of someone making an unbreakable oath. Seeing my uncertainty, she added, "You really ought to stand up to him more. Goodness knows not enough people do."

I sighed heavily. "I know. But I've never been able to stand up to _anybody_ , and Will is probably the most intimidating of them all. He's like…he's like the heroes in one of your books. Maybe he's hiding something awful. I know this might sound rude, but I don't really care to know what it is. He's been rude enough to me. Anyway, I know of another Herondale in my time, so perhaps things worked themselves out eventually…"

Tessa turned in her chair, her eyes just as wide as Jem's had been earlier. "So Will must eventually marry and have children."

I nodded slowly as a sudden, crazy idea struck me. Tessa was, so far, the only girl whom Will seemed to show any interest, and she was certainly captivated by him. Could it be…? But no; I saw no way how that worked. Tessa was a warlock, and according to the _Codex_ warlocks couldn't bear children. There must be some other branch of the Herondale family that I didn't know about. Perhaps Will had a brother whose descendants would carry on the line. Still, it was odd to think of my father being _parabatai_ with someone who was, however distantly, related to Will.

"Abby?" Tessa asked hesitantly, interrupting my musings. Now she looked uncharacteristically nervous, her fingers unconsciously touching her clockwork angel. "If what everyone seems to believe is true—that I really am a warlock—then I am immortal."

"Yes," I said after a long silence, our gazes meeting in the mirror; mine startled and wary, hers dejected and resigned.

"That means I would still be alive in the time you belong, in 1978." She faltered, her mouth pulling together in a grimace similar to the one I had made. "If that is indeed the case, then we would be able to meet again."

"I—yeah, I guess so. Just be sure to make it any time after the twentieth of May, provided I ever actually get back, or I will have absolutely no idea who you are." We shared a small smile in the mirror, but I could sense her mind was in actuality on something else.

"I do not know how I would be able to endure it," Tessa continued in a smaller voice. "To slowly lose everyone that I have ever known and loved while I stay ageless and unchanging."

I was at a loss for words: this was a problem neither I nor anyone else, except perhaps Magnus Bane, could help her with. "You speak of me having the greatest burden, Tessa, but perhaps we are both equally cursed in different ways. As you told me, you are the heroine of your own story." I gently placed the brush back down on the table and squeezed her shoulder briefly before quietly leaving the room, knowing that simple gesture could say more than any words I thought of ever would.

* * *

Will was lurking in the corridor outside, undoubtedly waiting for Tessa, but I pretended I didn't see him and walked right past, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't call after me, not even to taunt or mock some aspect of my appearance. Thank the Angel for small miracles; he must be so concentrated on whatever he was usually brooding about that I escaped his cutting remarks for the moment.

I was just rounding the corner on the way to the music room—I hadn't played the piano in days and my fingers were beginning to itch—when I nearly ran straight into Jem, who was carrying an armful of what looked like scythes and axes. "Hi, Jem," I said, suspiciously eyeing the weapons in his hands. "You're not planning to use those on me, are you?"

It was a terrible joke, and he looked genuinely shocked for a moment before bursting out into laughter. "By the Angel, no," he exclaimed, although I was sure he was more amused by the expression on my face than the words. "I was just bringing these out to Charlotte and Henry. Would you care to join me?"

"Of course," I replied, momentarily forgetting about the piano, and obediently followed him down the stairs and through the front door to where Henry and Charlotte were preparing to climb into the carriage. Thomas gave us a friendly wave as we approached, and I happily returned it. Charlotte, however, looked anxious when she spotted us. "Jem, thank you very much. Abby, please do not look so worried. The Institute will be perfectly safe."

 _It's not me I'm worried about,_ I thought. _It's you and Henry._ But something told me that this was not an acceptable thing for a Shadowhunter to confess, so I bit my tongue and tried to look reassured.

While Charlotte gave Jem instructions on what precautions he and Will needed to take to ensure the Institute's continued security, I noticed a tall, dark figure emerge from the doors and start toward us. Will's expression was set in his usual scowl, his hands stuffed carelessly into his pockets. Again he didn't even acknowledge my presence as he stood next to Jem and listened to Charlotte, looking extremely displeased.

I supposed that was my cue to leave. Shooting a quick smile at Jem that I hoped he saw, I trudged back up to the Institute, which was bathed in the bright colors of sunset. It had evidently been a sunny and somewhat pleasant day, but I'd unfortunately been asleep for most of it.

My desire to go to the music room had vanished; it was unfortunate that the piano was probably my only hobby. Mom had all but forced me to begin playing it in childhood; sometimes I wondered if I actually _truly_ enjoyed the instrument, or if it was just a product of my upbringing. After all, _I_ hadn't been the one who had wanted to participate in all those recitals, and the only reason I wanted to go to Juilliard was because it was in New York City; across the country from California. I knew I couldn't blame my mother, though; Dad had been the one who was talented at the piano, and she had enrolled her only daughter into lessons in hopes she would be able to reclaim a tiny bit of what she had lost. But still—my looks had been inherited from my father; my only talent had been inherited from him, and so had my Shadowhunter blood. Sometimes I wondered if there was any original part of _me_ left that I hadn't noticed, or I was just made up of my father's characteristics, like some real life Frankenstein.

As I passed the drawing-room, I saw that Tessa and Jessamine were back with Nate, who appeared to be shuffling cards on the table. I thought briefly about joining them, but decided that my presence probably wouldn't be welcome, not when they looked so intent. Instead I headed up the stairs to my room, where I pulled my fighting gear out of the wardrobe and smoothed it over the bed, staring at it thoughtfully. Maybe I could do a bit of training and impress Jem with what I had taught myself. I imagined his bright smile lighting up his face, and felt a rush of excitement. Yes, that was exactly what I should do.

I quickly changed into my gear and tied my hair up before grabbing my stele and seraph blade, inking the Equilibrium and Agility runes onto my arms. I liked to think I had become quite adept at naming and deciphering the runes by now. Two weeks of reading nothing but the _Codex_ tended to do that to a person.

The training room was deserted when I stepped inside, much to my relief, and I wondered how many Shadowhunters the Institute could hold. A hundred? A thousand? At any rate, the room was certainly large enough for either of those numbers to train comfortably.

I headed for the beams first, pulling myself up the ladder before landing lightly on the wood, jumping across the room. The setting sun cast brilliant rays of light across the floor, sparkling and illuminating the beads of dust that swirled up around me. In fact, I had to squint against the blinding light, something I hadn't actually done since I'd been sent here. Perhaps there was a curtain that could be pulled down to block out the sun—I certainly needed it.

A loud, gong-like sound suddenly reverberated from downstairs, audible even from this distance. I frowned; that was the Institute's bell. But surely Charlotte and Henry wouldn't be back yet, would they? I crawled over to the window and peered out—I could just make out a large black carriage parked outside the gates, with the words _Mortmain and Company_ elegantly printed on the side. "Mortmain," I breathed. Wasn't he the one who had been working with de Quincey at the Pandemonium Club?

Now I could see Will and Jem standing at the door, talking to a short, wiry-looking man wearing elegant clothes and a top hat. What did he want? Was this Mortmain or one of his associates?

I pressed my nose to the window, attempting to get a better view. Mortmain had his hands out in what appeared to be a pleading gesture, where Will's arms were crossed over his chest and Jem was shaking his head slightly. Again, I wondered what he could possibly be asking them about.

Finally Mortmain appeared to give up: he turned around and began to walk back to the carriage, Will and Jem watching him leave. When he finally disappeared beyond the gates, I turned around and leapt down from the beams, my curiosity getting the better of me. Something about this entire evening wasn't quite right: I could feel dread beginning to creep through my veins, twisting my stomach into knots and sending a rush of adrenaline through me. But I couldn't put my finger exactly on _what_ was bothering me: it was some sort of instinct that was more than a gut feeling. The only other time I could remember feeling like this was when I'd been at the motel, just after Mom had left and I'd first spotted the spider.

Tessa, Jem and Will were standing in the front corridor, all of them spinning guiltily around when they saw me. "What's going on?" I asked, stopping a few feet away from Will. "Why was Mortmain here?"

None of them questioned how I knew this. "He gave us the address to the Dark Sisters' house in Highgate," Jem explained. "Will and I are going to investigate."

"Then I'll go too," I said steadfastly. "I am a Shadowhunter as well."

"No," Jem and Will said at the same time, surprising both me and Tessa. "It is too dangerous, Abby," Jem explained quietly. "You are not properly trained, and Will and I only have our experience on our side."

A surge of disappointment, strong enough that it surprised even me, swept through me and I was shocked at myself: had I just volunteered to put myself into the path of danger? I was sure I looked just as stunned as the others did right now.

"You do not want Abby and I going with you because we are girls," Tessa said, with a peculiar bitterness. "You do not think we can fight as well as you."

The two boys exchanged a look, a knowing glance that spoke more than any words could. "No—we do not want you because you will only slow us down," Will said with a finality in his voice that signaled the end of the conversation. Without another word, he spun around and stalked out the door.

Jem's eyes were bright, his cheekbones high with color. Had he taken more of the drug? "I am sorry," he said, polite as ever. "But Will and I do not want to put either of you in danger."

"And what about you?" I asked, fully aware that Will was waiting at the end of the drive for him. "What of your safety?"

His mouth opened and closed, as if he was going to say something but thought better of it. "We shall be fine," he replied, although we both knew I hadn't been speaking in general terms.

"I feel as if I should at least say goodbye," Tessa said, biting her lip in worry and looking out where Will had disappeared.

Jem smiled at her. "It is not a Shadowhunter custom to wish each other goodbye or good luck before a battle. We behave as if we know that our return is certain."

Tessa frowned. "Ah," she said, although she still seemed puzzled.

" _Mizpah_ ," Jem continued, and I recognized the word from my frequent reading of the _Codex. Mizpah_ was what lovers said to each other before one left for battle. But I had no idea if he was talking to me or Tessa. Then again, I hadn't been the one who had been speaking to him.

With one last kind smile for both of us, Jem hurried out the door after Will, closing it tightly behind him. I took a step back from Tessa, trying not to show any signs of my sudden, irrational jealousy.

She looked pleadingly at me, reaching out to take my arm. "Will you join us in the drawing-room, Abby? Agatha has made some sandwiches, and I am sure that Nate would be pleased to make your acquaintance."

But I shook my head, feeling slightly guilty as I saw her face fall and she dropped my arm. "I'm sorry—I can't. I left my seraph blade in the training room." Although this was a lie, I didn't feel that I could stomach either Nate or Jessamine at the moment. Promising that I would make it up to Tessa, I hurried upstairs before she could persuade me further.

I was restless, feeling like a tiger locked in a tiny cage. A part of me that I never knew existed wanted to go with Will and Jem to _fight_ , to use my newfound fighting skills even though it was more than likely it would be an enormous risk. I didn't want to stay in the Institute playing cards with two people I didn't know or like, even if Tessa would be there, waiting for Jem to return. It was like a constant pang in my heart, not knowing if he was safe or not, and for the first time I knew what my mother had felt like when Dad had been a Shadowhunter.

The training room was noticeably colder than when I'd left it. Although it was now much darker outside, the temperature shouldn't have dropped at least ten degrees in as many minutes. I stood in the middle of the room, thinking irrationally that the Institute had some sort of air-conditioning, until I saw that the curtains were fluttering slightly in the breeze. That was odd—I hadn't opened the windows. Perhaps Sophie had been cleaning it while I'd been gone.

For the second time that evening, I climbed up onto the beams and carefully navigated my way to the windows, realizing too late that my equilibrium rune had faded and I wasn't feeling nearly as confident as I should be. To take my mind off of the rather intimidating drop below, I kept my eyes fixed on the street outside, watching Will and Jem's carriage rattling off into the distance. The moon hung low over the city, turning the tops of buildings a pale white. I forced myself not to compare the color to Jem's hair and reached out to slam the window shut, but my attention was caught by a shadow that was slowly moving across the wall toward me. I froze, some primitive part of my brain already knowing what it was.

It didn't take long for my new instincts to kick in; I wasn't sure how much time had passed between registering the information and pulling my seraph blade out of my pocket, prepared to hurl it at the now-familiar spider that was crawling across the window, in a perfect course for scuttling inside.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself—but that moment cost me, and it was just enough time for the spider to launch itself straight at me. I shrieked and jumped back, forgetting that I was still balanced on top of the beam, and tumbled backward, feeling nothing but empty air as I frantically tried to right myself.

And then I hit the ground, all the breath knocked out of me, and once my head smacked onto the floor with an agonizing crack, everything disappeared.

* * *

The next thing I could feel was pain, and I nearly screamed again—my head was ablaze with agony, ripping through my body like I'd had my skull sliced open. Dimly, I wondered if I had a concussion. But weren't Shadowhunters supposed to be stronger than mundanes? They didn't get hurt as easily. I'd fallen from a tree when I was a child, and Mom had immediately rushed me to the hospital, where the baffled doctors had told me that I was perfectly fine, without even a scratch. I hoped the same thing happened now.

"Abby," someone was saying through the muffled haze that was my mind. Someone was repeating my name, over and over, in an increasingly desperate tone. Was I still lying on the floor of the training room? I would have guessed that it had been Tessa or Sophie who'd found me, but the voice was decidedly male—and familiar. Was it just my brain hallucinating what it knew I wanted to hear?

But I wouldn't choose to fantasize Jem's voice sounding so frantic or hopeless. He gave a quiet, muted gasp, like the yelp of a kicked puppy, and he was pulling me up and cradling me to his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist. I leaned back into his shoulder, feeling that if this was a dream, I might as well make the most of it.

And then he froze, his breathing coming faster against my skin. I felt his fingers press against the pulse point on my throat, sensing my heartbeat.

"Jem," I whispered, and grasped his hand, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward me. Everything was spinning and swirling around me, as if I was in a dream. But the warmth of his hand in mine was far too real for me to be imagining it.

I forced myself to open my eyes, blinking away the spots and shapes that were dancing in my field of vision. They focused on Jem first, his silver hair falling over his eyes as he stared down at me with an expression that was akin to someone who had just seen a ghost, and then to the room beyond him. I couldn't see much of it, but judging by the dust layering the walls and ceiling, and the darkened outline of furniture pushed against the walls, it wasn't the training room.

"I thought you were dead," Jem said, and carefully grabbing me by the arms, pushed me against the wall into a sitting position, where I could clearly see the pool of blood on the floor. My hair was soaked with it, the ends stained bright red. There was a horribly throbbing pain where my head had hit the ground. "I thought—"

"Yes," I said, my breath coming out in a choked gasp. "I thought I was dead, too." _Where else would you have been holding me like that?_

"James," I distantly heard Will's voice saying. "Get away from her! It could be a trap—"

Jem's gaze flickered between me and his _parabatai,_ and he looked torn. I felt footsteps walking across the room toward me, sending vibrations through the floor, and then Will's face came into view, betraying nothing. He knelt down and roughly grabbed my arm, drawing a rune on it with his stele. To my amazement, the pain in my head began to lessen and my thoughts became clearer.

"It's her, Will," Jem said in a low voice as I groaned and ran my fingers through my sticky hair, feeling a golf-ball-sized lump on my scalp where I'd made contact with the ground. "The rune wouldn't have worked if she was an imposter."

"Imposter?" I asked thickly, my eyes widening as I took in the unfamiliar room. "Where am I? Are we in the Institute?"

Jem and Will exchanged one of their long, loaded gazes, the kind of look that only friends who have known each other for years could accomplish. "We are in the Dark Sisters' mansion," Jem finally said. "In Highgate."

"That's not possible," I replied, rubbing my eyes as if my surroundings would suddenly dissolve and rearrange themselves into different shapes. "After you'd left, I went up to the training room and was going to close the windows when I saw that…that horrible spider and fell from the beams…it's the last thing I can remember."

"And you nearly smashed your head open," Will finished for me. "The impact would have killed a mundane."

"But I don't understand how I could have gotten here…or even why the windows in the training room were open in the first place. That spider has been following me around everywhere." I tried to stand, but only ended up falling against the wall, half-supported by Jem. My face turned bright red at his touch, and I hoped he would only think it was from embarrassment.

"We can marvel over your ability to appear in seemingly random places later," Will said, stepping back from me and slipping the stele back into his pocket. "We have to go." Now a tinge of urgency had entered his voice. "Trust you to slow us down, future girl."

As he began to walk out of the room, I gasped, my still-spinning mind managing to register the horrifically scuttling shape of the spider, crawling out from under a dusty wardrobe. "Will, look out!" I cried, and he spun around, reacting instantly. His seraph blade speared the spider right in two, and I braced myself for a shower of blood and guts, but the only sound that was made was a high-pitched grinding, squeaking sound, and I could have sworn I saw sparks fly up from the point where the seraph blade had made impact.

Will frowned; he had evidently noticed the same thing I did. Before I could shout out another warning, he pulled up his blade from the floor and poked at the spider, which was now splayed across the floor, its many eyes staring blankly at me.

"It's clockwork," Will muttered, a brief flash of confusion crossing his face. Jem looked just as puzzled.

 _Clockwork._ Just like the automatons. Had the spider in the motel and the one at the Pandemonium Club been clockwork as well? And if they were, why was it following me? How did it have the ability to transport me from one place to another? And—my heart contracted—had _it_ been the thing that created the Portal? Was I now the one who was being led right into a trap?

"We'll bring it back to the Institute and get Henry to have a look at it," Jem said. He was still kneeling beside me, and with a not altogether unpleasant shock I remembered I was still holding his hand. "Can you walk, Abby?" he murmured in my ear.

"I…I hope so." Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward off the wall—but I had moved too fast, and my head was still woozy. This time I fell sideways, staggering right into Jem. It hadn't been intentional, but judging by the brief sneer on Will's face, _he_ certainly thought it was.

"Grab my shoulders, Abby," Jem instructed, and I didn't need much encouragement to do so. He leaned over and curled his arms around the back of my knees, lifting me up into the air bridal-style. I gulped—I wasn't afraid that he would drop me; I was afraid that he would notice my heart was pounding furiously. I was gripping Jem's shoulders so tightly that I could see my knuckles turning white, and I hoped that it wasn't hurting him, but he showed no signs of discomfort.

Across the room, Will looked disbelieving. "James, you cannot carry her all the way outside," he pointed out. "Your strength is already weakening."

"She can hardly walk on her own, William. She is still injured," Jem replied, a touch of dark irony to his voice as he followed Will out of the room and into a foyer that would have been grandiose if it wasn't for the air of disuse about the whole place. Cobwebs hung from every crack and corner and I nearly choked at the overpowering scent of mothballs.

As Jem carefully made his way down the spiraling staircase after Will, who was leaping down the steps three at a time, he filled me in on what they had discovered: The Magister wasn't de Quincey after all—he was, in fact, none other than the "foolish mundane" himself, Axel Mortmain. Mortmain had hired the Dark Sisters to train Tessa, and _he'd_ been the one to create the clockwork army. He had sent the Enclave on a wild goose chase to de Quincey's and Nate, who had apparently been working for him all along, lured Will and Jem out of the Institute so that it wouldn't be guarded. Mortmain had sent his clockwork automatons to the Institute—using Jem's blood that they had taken during last night's battle—and according to Will, who seemed uncharacteristically agitated, they could be there right now.

But I was still disoriented, and I couldn't find it in myself to be shocked at Nate's betrayal or the fact that a clockwork army could be attacking the Institute. I had a sneaking suspicion that the spider was caught up in all of this, and that whatever it was, it had survived the next century to eventually show up in my motel room. Whether it was the work of Mortmain or someone else, I had no idea—why would Mortmain be interested in me? It was Tessa he wanted—but whatever the spider's purpose was, it had the ability to transport me from one place to another. And I had no idea why it was following me.

"You're lucky that Jem wanted to search the house one more time, future girl," Will called back to me as we emerged out onto the front steps; the mansion was built on a high hill overlooking London, and I could see the dim outlines of the buildings in the distance, covered by the omnipresent smoke and pollution. "He heard a noise from upstairs and insisted on inspecting it."

I mustered up a smile for Jem; despite his insistence that he could carry me, I could tell that he was beginning to run out of stamina: his breathing was coming quicker and his eyes were quickly being swallowed up by silver. "You saved my life again," I said in as grateful a voice as I could manage, allowing him to lift me into the carriage and rest me in the seat. There were light patches of red high up in his cheekbones, which I assumed were the aftereffects of the drug. He had probably taken more of it before he and Will had left for Highgate.

But as Jem went back to speak to his _parabatai_ , I noticed I wasn't alone in the carriage: there was a large grey Persian cat curled up inside of a cage on the opposite seat. Its yellow eyes glittered malevolently at me as I stared at it, and it bristled, letting out a soft hiss. I shuddered; I'd never been much of a cat person.

When Jem climbed back into the carriage, he closed the door behind him and the carriage immediately begun to rattle forward. "Where's Will?" I asked, though I certainly wasn't about to complain at his absence.

"He rode ahead on Balios," Jem explained, settling into the seat beside me and crossing his arms over his cane. "Xanthos can pull the carriage perfectly well by himself."

"He went to save Tessa," I mumbled under my breath. Jem's eyebrows knit together in bewilderment, and I quickly cleared my throat, changing the subject. "And the cat?" I pointed at the grey beast, who hissed again at my words, bearing its teeth.

Jem smiled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I found him in the house—the Dark Sisters must have been doing experiments on him."

I stared at him for a moment with my mouth open. It was so like _Jem,_ to rescue a cat that looked as much like a demon as its owners did. "By the Angel," I laughed, unable to smother my giggles, "Soon you'll be running a Shadowhunter animal sanctuary. I suppose all the pets are going to be just as bad-tempered as this one."

"He is not bad-tempered," Jem argued. "You would be scared, too, if you were locked up in a cage for heaven knows how long, being experimented on with dark magic."

"Yeah, I guess." We lapsed into silence then, and I thought of different ways to broach the topic of what had happened when I'd first woken up. I remembered his quiet gasp, the way he'd been saying my name over and over…"Jem," I finally said, breaking the silence, "You…you thought I was dead back there, didn't you?"

His silver eyes locked onto mine, and he slowly nodded. "I know I should have not been so quick to act. But in that moment, I did not think of whether it was a trap or how you had gotten there. I did not think of the danger we were in. I only thought I had lost you, and it erased everything else in my mind." Jem shuddered slightly, as if the thought of my death was an unbearable one to him.

I stared at him in wonder, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You thought…you had lost _me?_ "

He cleared his throat, breaking our gazes. "Yes. I never believed that…that I would live to find a girl whom I cared this deeply and strongly for. Abby, I…" He swallowed hard. "I admire you, in all the ways a man can admire a woman, and in numerous ways deeper than that. It is horribly inopportune of me to think such a thing, but it is the truth—"

"You have feelings for me," I interrupted, and I suddenly realized why Tessa had been so optimistic about me telling him of my own feelings, because she had known something I hadn't. A wave of wonder surged up inside me, wonder mixed with giddiness. In that moment I completely forgot about my injured head and the fact that we could be riding to our deaths right now.

Although I would later play the moment over and over in my mind, I was never sure who reached for who first, only that Jem's lips were suddenly on mine, and I tasted his peculiar scent of burnt paper and foreign spices, and I could feel his heart beating steadily against my chest. I wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted—it was both never-ending and far too short. We both pulled away at the same time, shyness and awe reflected in each other's eyes. "You…you admire me," I spoke first, repeating his words. "God, I…Jem, I've never had a boy… _like_ me in this way before. And just after I'd been thinking that I had completely and utterly fallen head over heels for you!"

"Head over heels?" he repeated, amusement flitting across his expression. His eyes shone with muted hope, and for a moment I could have sworn he was perfectly healthy. This time he leaned forward toward me, and I allowed him to softly press his lips to my cheek before he pulled away. "I do believe I need you to teach me your Americanisms, Abby."

"Of course I will," I nodded, but I'd barely paid attention to what he had just said. I would have normally joked about how we had all the time in the world—but we _didn't_ have all the time in the world. In fact, we had very little of it. I would have to go back to the future, and he was dying. How much time did we have, truly? "But…Jem, I am from the future. And you are ill." I didn't know how to word my thoughts: was he just looking for a quick relationship, whatever the Victorian term for a one-night stand was? Did he just want to experience this before he—I could barely even think it—died?

The spark slowly disappeared from Jem's face, and my heart sank with it. "Yes," he said quietly, and the atmosphere in the carriage seemed to literally turn colder, as if it was the dead of winter. An invisible barrier had suddenly been erected between us, and I had the horrible sense that I'd said the wrong thing.

When the carriage halted, I stayed frozen, watching him with wide eyes as he opened the door and gathered his cane. "I am terribly sorry, Abby," he said without looking back at me, and all of a sudden he was gone.

"Jem!" I called after him, but I was only speaking to an empty carriage.


	16. Sixteen

**S** hock and dismay were coursing through me in equal measures, keeping me rooted to the seat. I stared at the door with what I was sure was an anguished look on my face, held frozen by some invisible force. My heart was still battering against my ribcage as if I'd fought a dozen demons at once.

I had kissed Jem. _And he had kissed me back._ He had said that he admired me in all the ways a man could admire a woman, and "numerous ways deeper than that." What on earth had he meant? Was this standard wording for a Victorian male? In the time I had grown up in, someone's idea of admitting they liked another person romantically was shouting across the room, "Hey, wanna go out?"

_I only thought I had lost you, and it erased everything else in my mind._

He had said the words that I'd been dreaming about—that he had feelings for me—and what had I done? I had stuffed my foot so far into my mouth that I doubted I could ever get it out. I had stupidly pointed out the problems if we ever attempted to begin a relationship instead of just enjoying the moment. I'd chased him away. He must think that I was completely insane.

The thrill of the moment had disappeared, to be replaced by an empty, hollow feeling, as if my heart had been carved out of my chest and replaced by a wooden substitute. I saw my pale, worried reflection in the glass of the window, and unconsciously reached up to touch my lips, wondering how I could remedy the situation. _Jem, I didn't mean what I was saying. I wanted to know how you felt about it._ No, that sounded too desperate. _I don't care about the problems. Let's make the most of it._ And now _I_ sounded like I was only in it for a good time. And if I did broach the topic, how could I be sure he wouldn't just try to be polite when he really thought the opposite? This was the only situation where I envied Tessa; Will certainly wouldn't beat around the bush or attempt to spare her feelings.

_Tessa._

What in the name of the Angel was I doing, sitting in the carriage brooding while the Institute was possibly under attack? No wonder Jem had run out so quickly—he'd wanted to make sure everything was all right. Perhaps it didn't have anything to do with me after all. He hadn't come back to help me out, so did that mean something was wrong?

As if bringing life to my thoughts, the cat hissed loudly, arching its back and baring yellow teeth at the door. I fumbled for my seraph blade just as the carriage door was nearly yanked off its hinges, rocking from side to side with a great force.

An automaton was standing just outside the carriage, its clawed hand still on the door. It was even less fully-formed than the other ones had been; I could see the mechanisms working and contracting under its clothes. For the first time, with a wave of nausea, I wondered how exactly it had gotten its skin.

But I didn't have time to contemplate; the clockwork monster reached for me, its fingers moving in a sort of grotesque wave, and I did about the only thing I could in that moment: I plunged the seraph blade straight into its chest. As I pulled it out, the automaton staggered backwards, falling off the side of the carriage, and collapsed onto the ground.

All thoughts of my newly-discovered love life banished, I leapt outside, making sure to jump over the lifeless body of the automaton, and took in the scene in front of me, which was a whirlwind of noise. There were at least five more automatons in the yard, but this time there were just as many Shadowhunters helping out. I saw Henry, with his flaming red hair, deftly dismantling one of the taller ones, and tiny Charlotte was taking on two at once. I recognized Jem only by his silver hair, moving so fast that I could barely keep up with him, swinging his cane and dodging out of their reach. Standing next to him, with an automaton's arms wrapped around each of them, were Jessamine and Sophie, both struggling against their bonds. There was no sign of either Will or Tessa anywhere.

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I saw a blonde man tearing as fast as he could away from the fighting, a small wooden box I recognized as the Pyxis—which was used to trap demon energies—tucked under his arm. In a sudden rush of adrenaline, I ran toward him, hoping to intercept his path.

Nathaniel Gray skidded to a stop to avoid me, attempting to dodge my grasp, but I stuck out my foot and he tripped, sprawling across the grass and landing unceremoniously on his behind. The Pyxis went flying from his hands, and I snatched it up before he could react, walking quickly backwards as he struggled to his feet. His eyes narrowed when he saw that I was holding it, and I looked around for assistance, but the others were all still too preoccupied in their own situations.

"Give it back, Shadowhunter," he snarled, his hair disheveled and falling around his face.

My next words tumbled out of my mouth before I could even think about what I should say. "That's strange—I seem to remember that the Pyxis can only be opened _by_ Shadowhunters. What good is it going to do you? You're just a mundane." I was surprised at the contempt I could inject into the last word, and immediately felt a stab of guilt as I thought of my mother.

Nate had a horrible smirk on his face—in my experience, or rather, in the movies I'd seen, this usually meant that they knew something you didn't, which was confirmed a second later when my back slammed into the stone wall—as he cornered me, his eyes sparking wickedly. "Mortmain has powers that you cannot dream of. The energy in this box will be used to animate the automatons, making them nearly impossible to destroy. And if you give it back to me…" He held out his hand. "I can assure you that there will be no more spiders following you."

My eyes widened and I was caught off-guard. "You know about the spiders?" I asked. Behind him, the others appeared to have nearly defeated the army of automatons—I hoped it would be sooner rather than later and that someone would notice me.

"Of course," Nate replied. "I was the one who sent them after you in the Pandemonium Club."

This time my mind went completely blank, washed clean of any coherent thought. "You…you what?" I choked, but instead of giving a proper answer, Tessa's brother threw himself at me, one arm still outstretched and grazing my shoulder.

I dove out of the way, gripping onto the wall for support as the pain in my head flared up again. Nate had ripped a piece of fabric off my gear, but I couldn't afford to worry about that right now. In a moment of sheer adrenaline, I tossed the Pyxis as far away as I could, where it soared in a high arc over the gate and disappeared into the shrubbery lining the road.

Nate let out a howl of rage as soon as he realized what I had done, clenching his bleeding hands into fists. "You'll pay for that, you little bitch," he hissed, and smacked me across the face. Stunned, I reeled backward, my hands covering my nose. I could already feel blood begin to pour out of it, but I barely noticed the pain. "Abby!" I dimly heard someone call—Charlotte? Jem?—but I didn't take my eyes off Nate.

He advanced on me again, raising his arm, but this time I was ready. I swung my leg out, catching him right in the groin, and shoved him away as hard as I could. He yelled in pain and doubled over, and I took this opportunity to kick him again, this time in the chest. I caught a flash of blue as he looked up at me, and the hatred in his eyes reminded me so much of Will that I paused, momentarily frozen.

Then the world shifted back into focus, and Nate was suddenly up against the wall, struggling to move, but it wasn't me who had put him there.

It was Jem.

Although his face was streaked with blood, his arms were shaking, and the circles under his eyes had bypassed purple and gone straight to black, there was no mistaking the rage in his eyes. He had a scythe pointed at Nate's throat, the tip just breaking the skin. "As incredibly dense as you have already proven yourself to be, I am quite sure that you know what will happen if this goes through your neck," Jem said, and his voice wasn't wavering in the slightest. "I assure you that if you ever touch Abby or anyone else at the Institute again, your punishment will be such that you will wish you had died right here and now."

"Jem," I managed to croak even through my broken nose. This was a side of him I had never seen before; a side that I had never known even existed. I would have expected Will to behave like that, but not Jem.

Nate was laughing. He seemed completely unperturbed by Jem's threat. "And who is going to punish me?" he jeered. "Certainly not _you_ —you look as if you won't even survive the night!" As if proving his point, he lashed out, forcing the seraph blade away from his throat and back onto Jem, where, taken by surprise, it plunged right into Jem's hand.

He sank to the ground, weak from blood loss and exhaustion and unable to fight back. Seizing his chance, Nate began to run, dashing through the open gate and disappearing out of sight. But now I had all but forgotten about him—my only focus was on Jem. I dropped to my knees beside him as he yanked the blade out of his hand with a wince of pain.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I grabbed his hand and pressed my own tightly over the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His tired eyes looked up at me, lingering on my nose. "Abby, you are injured worse than I am," he said, but his voice was quiet and weak.

I tried to shake my head, but that only made my head hurt even more. Trying to stop the dizziness, I leaned forward and put my head against his shoulder, as I had done in the carriage on the way back from de Quincey's, unsure whether the blood I was now soaked in was mine or his.

It was then that I finally understood I did not just have "feelings" for Jem Carstairs, like a little girl with a crush.

I was falling in love with him.

* * *

"How long do you think the funeral will last?" I asked, drawing my legs up under me and leaning back into the armchair. It was an unusually sunny day for London, sunlight pouring in through the great picture windows of the library and congealing in bright puddles on the floor.

"Sophie said a few hours at the most," replied Tessa. She was curled up in the window seat, a well-worn book in her lap and her finger on the page she had been reading. I noticed she kept glancing outside, as if expecting the carriage to appear at any moment.

It had been four days since Mortmain's attack on the Institute, and though he hadn't managed to capture Tessa or bring the Institute to its knees, he still had struck great blows against the Shadowhunters, most notably the loss of Thomas and Agatha—I still shook with anger when I thought about their deaths. They had been such good, kind people, and my eyes had filled with tears when I'd heard the news. I hadn't known either of them for very long, but their needless deaths had struck home to me just how perilous this new world was.

I could tell that Tessa was shaken even more than I was by Nate's betrayal. I didn't blame her—she, like me, was completely alone now, only she had to deal with the consequences of having her last remaining family member deceive her. I hadn't told her about fighting with him in the courtyard; I'd pretended that one of the automatons had fractured my nose. She was already feeling so guilty about Thomas and Agatha, believing that it was her fault so much harm had come to the Institute. I knew that Tessa would blame herself for what Nate had done to me if she ever found out what had really happened.

The others were at the funeral in the Silent City, leaving the Institute empty except for Tessa, Sophie, and I. Sophie and Tessa were forbidden to attend because they were not Shadowhunters, and as I turned out to have a mild concussion and a fractured nose the Silent Brothers had advised me to stay in bed for several days. Today, in fact, was the first day I had left my room, at Tessa's urging. She had been my main visitor while I was bedridden, closely followed by Charlotte and Sophie. Will had even walked in once, a gesture that I was sure had more to do with Jem's prodding than his own decision. He had stood at the foot of my bed for a moment, apparently biting back any number of scathing comments, before finally settling on saying, "You did better than I expected you would, future girl."

"Um," had been my first response, followed by the question of, "Thank you?" But Will hadn't elaborated before he'd turned around and strode out, and I hadn't seen him since then.

To my disappointment, Jem hadn't visited me that much more often than Will had. The conversations between us had been awkward and stilted, neither of us bringing up any mention of our confessions or brief kiss in the carriage. It had been superficial, everyday talk, politely inquiring how the other was faring. Once or twice I had been tempted to just knock down the elephant in the room and ask him outright if he regretted what he had said, but I never did. I was too afraid of the answer.

At least one good outcome had emerged out of this entire mess: after spending long hours toiling over the clockwork spider the boys had salvaged from the Dark Sisters', Henry had informed me that it was completely destroyed and he doubted not even demon energy could reanimate it. I had been immensely relieved and reassured by his words, but there were still unanswered questions that not even he could answer: Why had it been after me in the first place? Nate had neglected to mention _that_ tiny detail. And how had it transported me from the training-room to Highgate? What had its purpose been, if it even had one?

I'd confessed this to Charlotte the previous day, staring down at my hands and unable to look her in the eye. "I'm sure that the clockwork spider is connected to Mortmain somehow. If it could find a way to get into the Institute, the other automatons can as well."

But Charlotte had comforted me, saying that the spider was gone and Mortmain would have other ways to get inside if he really needed to rather than relying on one of his automatons. I was sure I had sounded like Tessa at that point, apologizing that I had put everyone in danger and I should be sent away. "Abby, you are staying here until we find a way to get you back home, and that is final," Charlotte had said firmly, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Please do not blame yourself for anything. You have displayed greater bravery than anyone ever expected of an untrained Shadowhunter, especially one of your age."

Her soothing words had already begun to wear off, though, and I was struck with self-doubt again. "Tessa," I began, cringing a little at the sound of my own hoarse voice. She glanced up from her book, her grey eyes wide as if I had caught her deep in thought, but I could tell she hadn't actually been reading since her eyes weren't moving across the page. "When Jem brought you to Blackfriars Bridge, what was it that he said about me?"

She didn't look surprised at all by my sudden question; I supposed that it would take more than that to shock Tessa Gray now. After a moment of deliberation, she slowly replied, "He mentioned that he holds you in great regard and he thinks of you in ways he has never thought about a girl before, but he is hesitant to pursue any kind of courtship because of your respective situations. He does not wish to hurt you in any way or force you to think of him romantically if you do not want to. But…he wants you to love him, Abby. He wants it more than anything in the world." She looked half-apologetic, as if she knew everything that had happened.

"He wants me to love him," I repeated, unable to deny that the words gave me a thrill throughout my entire body. During the past days, I'd had a lot of time to ponder the meaning of love, what it entailed, and how it related to what I felt for Jem. I had come to the conclusion that if our relationship, or whatever it was, kept on its current course, I would be deeply in love with him in no time. After all, Shadowhunters formed quicker and deeper bonds than mundanes, as he himself had told me.

"He is a wonderful soul and very handsome, at that," Tessa added, a tiny smile playing at her lips. "A courtship would make both of you happy."

"I know," I admitted, closing my eyes in defeat, "But it would be very difficult. I don't know if I would be able to go back to my time in the case I became too attached, or how I would react if he ever…" I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. _If he ever died._

"Perhaps it is a risk worth taking," Tessa argued. She was leaning forward now, a strand of hair falling over her face and her lips pursed in that characteristically determined expression. "You both care deeply about each other, so why not take advantage of such a realization? Jem truly deserves happiness."

"But what if I'm not the right person to give that to him?" I couldn't help but ask, caught in my spiral of self-doubt. "I'm just…just Abby. I'm about the most boring, ordinary person you could ever meet."

"And yet you are one of the most _interesting_ Shadowhunters I have met," Tessa said firmly, as if this decided the matter.

I grinned ruefully, allowing myself to believe that she was being honest. "When I first woke up in the Dark Sisters' mansion, Jem was holding me. He thought that I was dead at first, and Will snapped at him to get away in case it was a trap, but…he didn't. It made me realize that maybe…he cares for me in the same way I care for him." Haltingly, I told her about our conversation in the carriage, the kiss, and my disastrous words afterwards. Tessa looked affronted on Jem's behalf for the entire story.

"Abby, you must tell him it was a misunderstanding," she urged. "You made it seem as if you were stating you did not care for him romantically." She blinked, as if she had just come back to Earth. "Forgive me, I should not be so forward. It is your decision, and I should not interfere."

"Tessa, it's fine," I said. "I wanted your advice, actually. And I do want to begin a relationship with Jem, if that's even possible. I know that it's likely wrong in a thousand different ways, and Charlotte would banish me from the Institute if she ever found out, but I can't help it."

"Charlotte would never banish you," Tessa assured me. "In fact, I think she would be thrilled that you are such a good influence on Jem."

"And _I_ think she would be thrilled if she knew the influence you have had on Will," I not-so-smoothly reverted the conversation to her. "Whatever front he puts up, he cares for you, Tess. He is excellent at hiding things, but he can't seem to manage it when it comes to you."

"Does he?" she echoed doubtfully. "When I myself woke up after Changing into that woman to save myself from Mortmain, he was cradling me just as you described Jem holding you. But as soon as he learned that I was all right, he nearly ran away. He has not spoken to me since."

It appeared that I wasn't the only one who was currently experiencing relationship problems. "Have you asked him about it?"

Tessa shook her head. "I would like to, but I fear that I will not be at the Institute for much longer."

A sense of panic rushed through me as I contemplated losing who was quite possibly the closest female friend I had ever made. "Charlotte won't make you leave," I said. "She knows that what happened isn't your fault."

"But what if it is?" Tessa asked, her voice barely above a whisper. I could sense her reluctance in divulging such a thought to me, but her desperation to talk to someone about it. "I have brought nothing but harm upon the Institute. I am not even a Shadowhunter."

"It would hardly be any wiser to throw you out onto the street," I pointed out. "Mortmain wants something from you, and we know that his goal is to destroy the Nephilim. Making you leave would be as good as a death sentence for everybody. Besides…Mortmain cannot win this war, or the Shadow World of 1978 would not be as stable as I can assure you it is." I smiled thinly. "I know you will survive this, Tessa."

"You do?" she asked dully, but unable to hide the spark of interest in her eyes.

"Yes. I once saw you in San Francisco with Magnus Bane."

Tessa's eyes widened in wonder. Before I could elaborate, the library doors swung open behind us and I spun around guiltily, ready to run away from Will. But it was only Charlotte; she looked more tired and worn than I had ever seen her. She'd changed out of her mourning dress and now looked as respectable as any Victorian lady. "Good afternoon," she said, nodding her head at us. "I take it you are feeling better, Abby?"

"Much better," I assured her. "I should be able to begin training again soon."

"Spoken like a true Shadowhunter," Charlotte responded, smiling genuinely at me before turning to Tessa. "Would you mind if I had a word? There is something I wish to discuss with you."

"Of course not," Tessa answered, and since I hadn't been included in Charlotte's request, I guessed that it was time to leave. Giving Tessa what I hoped was a reassuring smile, I slowly stood up, making sure not to set off any sudden spurts of dizziness, and walked back through the library, past the towering bookshelves and the lunar tables, the globes that sparkled with sunlight and the cabinets filled with various odds and ends.

When I emerged out into the darkened hallway, pulling the doors shut behind me, I had to stand still for a moment, letting my eyes adjust after the blinding brightness of the library. The faint sounds of music reached my ears, and I strained to hear it properly. But it wasn't a violin, as I'd become so accustomed to hearing during all hours of the day and night. It was a piano, and I found myself rooted to the spot, feeling a slight twinge of jealousy at whoever could play the instrument so beautifully.

But I was certain I knew exactly who the musician was—who else would even touch the piano?—and I tentatively walked down to the music room, stopping in the doorway and folding my arms, as if hugging myself.

Unlike Charlotte, Jem hadn't changed out of his mourning clothes. The red runes were bright against his skin, and he'd pushed his sleeves back to his elbows. His hand was still tightly wrapped in a bandage where Nate had stabbed him.

"Abby," he said without turning around. "Abby, is that you?"

"Yes," I replied, smiling gently.

"I hoped you would come," he said shyly. The music stopped, the note dying off into silence, and he turned around on the bench, a warm smile on his features. There was nothing in his gaze to suggest that he was still feeling uncomfortable around me.

I stepped forward, my legs moving of their own accord, propelling me toward the bench. Jem had moved over to give me room, and I sat down before I was fully aware of what I was doing. I was reminded of the first days I had been at the Institute, when we had been sitting next to each other in this very spot, our legs brushing, and I'd felt a spark of something that I hadn't understood until now. I had liked Jem from the start, but I had certainly never envisioned I would become _this_ intertwined with him.

"You play much better than I do," I confessed, pressing one of the keys at random and listening to the single, mournful note pierce the air.

Modest as ever, Jem shook his head. "You taught me," he reminded me, and we shared a grin. I remembered what Tessa had said—that he wanted me to love him—and took a deep breath, wanting to ease the tension between us, even if it was only in my imagination.

"Jem," I said, hoping he wouldn't notice how my voice shook when I said his name. He looked quizzically at me, and I mentally prepared myself to bring up the subject—before failing miserably. "How was the funeral?"

He immediately turned somber, and a tiny, selfish part of me pretended that it was because I hadn't asked him the question he'd really wanted. "It was…difficult," he replied. "Thomas and Agatha were like family to me—to all of us."

Oh, by the Angel. Now I was making things even worse. I had to fix things before I completely chickened out. How should I broach the topic?

 _We need to talk—_ no, that sounded too much like my mother. _I want you to kiss me again._ God _,_ that was even worse.

But, of course, the answer I blurted out was far from perfect. "Jem," I said again, wincing, "I want to apologize to you for what happened in the carriage. It was my fault. I shouldn't have said what I did."

His mouth opened slightly in astonishment, staring wide-eyed at me. What had I done?


	17. Seventeen

**J** em didn't speak for a long time, casting his gaze downwards so I couldn't see his expression. I wasn't even sure I wanted to. "Abby," he said softly, and I shivered involuntarily at the sound of my name. How was it that such a normal word sounded so different on his lips? "You should not apologize because you do not return my feelings. It is my fault for taking such liberties."

Now I was thoroughly taken aback. "When did I ever say I didn't return your feelings? I was apologizing because I completely ruined the moment between us. If anything, the blame lies on me."

He looked up, something like hope beginning to dawn in his eyes. "I believed you regretted what had happened between us in the carriage, but did not want to appear rude. I left so you did not have to make that choice."

"No!" I exclaimed. "That's not it at all. Jem, I—I said that I had fallen head over heels for you. In my time, that means you have fallen in love. It was me who thought that you hadn't meant what you said. I thought you were just in the heat of the moment, when you were really thinking about the fight. It's just…it's just that no one has ever said that to me before, and I had no idea how to react. I _do_ have feelings for you. I've never been this…this fascinated by anyone before."

He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers brush my cheek, and I automatically lifted my hand to hold him there, relishing the way his skin burned into mine. "Please believe me when I say that I have never cared about anyone else in this way before, Abby. But…I cannot court you in the way a normal man would. It would be nothing more than selfish for me to ask you to become chained to a dying boy."

"I don't care," I said fiercely, barely breathing. If I'd understood him correctly, he was just as infatuated with me as I was with him. To put it in modern slang, screw the circumstances. "I have to go back to the future sometime, too. I can't stay like this forever, just as you cannot. All that matters is that we are here, in this moment. Please don't worry about 'courting' me or whatever the word for it is—I don't even know what you mean by that. There is no point in worrying about the future if it has not even happened yet." _At least for you._

Jem looked slightly awed; he slowly lowered his hand from my face, and I could feel his breathing coming quicker against my skin. "Are you...are you sure? The sacrifices you will have to make—it is a lot to ask."

"Not for you." I knew as I said the words that they were true. I didn't care what I had to give up if it meant that I could be with Jem, even for a very brief period of time. But neither of us voiced the words we were both thinking: this would only last until he died or I had to go back to 1978.

Carefully, as if not wanting to startle me, Jem leaned forward and lowered his head so that our foreheads were touching. I closed my eyes, scooting the last few centimeters between us on the bench and placing my hand on top of his.

" _Wǒ zǒng shì xiǎng nǐ,"_ Jem whispered. "I can't stop thinking about you, Abby. Even when you first arrived at the Institute, I wanted to make sure you were all right." He grinned ruefully. "Charlotte saw me standing outside your door that first night. I think she saw what was going to occur even before we did. She is a remarkably intelligent woman. That's why she wanted Will to be our chaperone. She trusts me, but she wanted to make sure you felt comfortable."

"As if Will could make anyone feel comfortable," I muttered, and Jem shook against me as he laughed.

Neither of us noticed the large grey shape slink into the room and watch us, tail swishing back and forth, before a plaintive meow jerked us both apart, where my back hit the piano guiltily, sending several disjointed notes into the air.

It took me a minute to realize that it was just the new cat, Church, who had been skulking around the Institute since Jem had rescued him. His accusing eyes stared up at me malevolently, and I had the strange feeling he had disturbed us on purpose.

"The cat," I managed to say, pointing down at Church, who had trotted up to Jem and begun to purr loudly.

Jem laughed, reaching down to stroke his fur. "He is very pushy. I believe he feels as if he is the new head of the Institute."

Something brushed against my legs, and I looked down to see Church weaving his way around my dress. I cautiously reached down to stroke him, and he arched his back, purring, before abruptly deciding he'd had enough and running out of the room as silently as he'd arrived. I watched him leave in astonishment, my hand still poised in the air.

"Cats certainly have a mind of their own," Jem said, and I jumped; I hadn't realized he'd gotten off the bench and walked over to stand behind me.

"Definitely," I agreed, but I was hardly thinking about Church anymore. I was wondering if we would have kissed if we hadn't been interrupted. Where did our—relationship?—friendship?—stand now? We had both admitted we had feelings for each other and that we would try to make as much of it count as we could in the limited time that we had. So what was I supposed to do now?

"Jem," I asked quietly, turning around so that I could see his face, "You don't think that I'm…I'm changing the future in any way, do you?"

His face turned solemn, and he was quiet for a long time before speaking. "My father had a book on such a theory," he explained. "It was a mundane book, but it contained some very useful information. In it, the author suggested there were two theories that could occur if time travel were ever invented. The first one explained that if someone were to go back in time and kill their past self, or were killed themselves, the universe would collapse in on itself, therefore causing a loop that would ensure they were never born in the first place. Of course, since you are alive, that is impossible. The second theory is that the past can never be altered, and that whatever happened in the past shall happen, and nothing can change it."

I let out a shaky breath. "Let's hope the second theory is true, then. It's just something I've been worrying about for a long time. I mean…it's strange to think that where I come from, all of this has already happened. Or that I've already _been_ here, a hundred years before I was born." I grinned ruefully. "I'm sorry, that didn't make sense at all."

"I think it makes perfect sense," Jem said serenely. He was still standing behind me, his breath tickling the back of my neck. "You have adjusted marvellously well, Abby. You are stronger than you believe you are. Not so many could have gone through such an ordeal and are still fighting."

"What other choice do I have?" I sighed.

"You can choose to keep yourself locked up in your room and refuse to talk to anyone," Jem said quietly. "Like Jessamine. But you don't. You say you are weak, Abby, but I have not seen any evidence to prove that so far. Sometimes it is only when we face the greatest trials that we truly know ourselves."

Before I could answer, there was a soft creaking on the floor outside of the music room and Tessa walked in, although she didn't appear to see us right away. She was holding the _Codex_ with a lost look in her eyes.

"Tessa?" I asked, and her head jerked up guiltily.

"Oh—hello, Abby, Jem," she replied. "I apologize—I was not aware that I was disturbing anyone. I shall find a different place to stay."

Jem stepped forward, agreeable as ever. "Please stay," he said, and I nodded in agreement.

She looked hesitant at first, but eventually came back to us, taking a seat on the floor so that the still-shining sun fell onto her hair and skin. I noticed that she had a freckle on her right hand in the exact same place I did. Jem and I knelt down as well, my skirts spreading across the ground.

"Now," Jem said gently, as if not wanting to upset a frightened animal, "What is bothering you? I can see you are upset."

Now she looked a bit surprised. "How can you tell?"

He smiled. "You look exactly the same as Abby does when she is unhappy. What is it, Tessa?"

She glanced down at the pages of the _Codex_ in answer. Jem and I scanned them quickly, and I saw that it was opened to the paragraph on the sterility of warlocks.

"I did not know they could not bear children," she said quietly, fiddling with a piece of her hair. "It is not the nature of the statement, exactly, but rather what it means about me. It is as if it is one more thing that sets me apart from the rest of the world."

I began to make a lame reassurance, but luckily Jem beat me to it. "It is not certain," he told her. "We still do not know everything about you. Please do not take this one piece of information as the utmost truth. In fact, no one is sure you are even truly a warlock."

This did not look as if it cheered Tessa up one bit. "There is another thing," she admitted. "If I am not a warlock, what am I? If I _am_ a warlock, then who were my parents? Mortmain said my father was a demon, but I cannot imagine my mother allowing such a thing to happen. Did they know something was wrong with me? Why would they leave London? Nate told me that I wasn't…wasn't even his sister."

"They loved you enough to hide you from Mortmain," I pointed out. "And Nate doesn't sound as if he knows any more about anything that's going on than we do. I wouldn't trust anything he says."

Jem had stiffened at the mention of Nate. Remembering the man's words to Jem in the courtyard, I cautiously put a hand on his shoulder. He met my gaze and gave me a quick smile.

This didn't escape the notice of Tessa, who added, "Besides, I am very grateful for your kindness, but I do not feel as if I truly belong at the Institute, no matter how much both of you like to state that we are family of sorts. I am not like one of you. Will made that point very clear." I frowned, and the expression on her face plainly told me that she would elaborate later."

"Ah, Will," Jem sighed as I drew back my hand from him. "What has he done now?"

"He made it quite clear that me staying at the Institute is not a good thing." Tessa ducked her head. "Charlotte wished to tell me that I was welcome to stay here for as long as I wanted. I think I shall, as I have nowhere else to go, nobody who would take me in."

"But you know Will," I pointed out, secretly ecstatic that she was going to stay. "He never says what he really means."

It was Jem, in the end, who convinced her. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the jade pendant I often saw him wearing, shaped like a fist. "Will bought this for me from a shop in the East End when I first came to London and was missing Shanghai, since he knew jade came from China."

"Well," Tessa said in a small voice, "At least he can be kind to you." I nodded my head in agreement, but I wasn't admittedly surprised. I had never seen Will so much as look at Jem with that hardness I saw in his eyes when he was paying attention to anyone else, even Tessa. There was a bond between the two boys that went much deeper than mere friendship, and perhaps something was even deeper than romantic love as well. I had never seen anything like it, and I doubted I ever would again. It was, I reflected, as if they were two halves of the same person, as opposite as their personalities and appearances were. "Oh, what's the use?" she suddenly cried out. "I shall outlive everyone I know. _Everyone."_

"Tessa, you can't think that way!" I exclaimed, putting my arms around her and stroking her hair like a mother. "You haven't outlived anyone now. What's the use in thinking about the future?"

"You mentioned you saw me in your time," Tessa said morosely, lifting up her face and biting her lip. "Everyone I love will be dead, so I may as well get used to loss now."

This revelation was an obvious shock for Jem; his mouth fell open in an almost comical way as he stared incredulously at me. "You…you did?" he asked, but his question was directed at me.

I nodded, and quickly explained my almost-meeting with Tessa and Magnus Bane when I was younger. His dazed expression didn't disappear—in a strange way, it was if it had finally hit home that I was truly from the future. He muttered something in Chinese that I couldn't quite hear, and I wondered if he was swearing. "Well," he said in a louder voice at my quizzical look, "That doesn't mean you should despair now, Tessa. That will not occur for decades and decades. You shall be a changed person, then. Should we all despair because there is a chance we may outlive our loved ones?" He gave a slight wince, as if he regretted speaking. "Apart from me, of course."

"Jem!" I cried, and even Tessa pulled herself out of her despair to frown at him. "You can't think like that. You were just the one telling _us_ not to despair."

To my mild surprise, he grinned ruefully at me. "Of course, Abby. You are quite correct. I—"

But he was interrupted by a loud tapping at the window, as if a bird was trying to get in. Tessa was the first one to stand up and walk over to it, but her hand slipped on the latch. Jem graciously got up as well and I followed suit. Bright sunshine poured into the normally dark room, making all of us squint as he opened the window with one hard yank. Tessa immediately reached out and snatched up the small object, which was fluttering madly about the room.

Jem and I shared a puzzled look. "What is it?" I asked, noticing her change of demeanor.

Tessa turned back to us, now with a wide smile that lit up her entire face. "My angel," she said.

* * *

My dreams that night were both beautiful and terrible; dizzying in their detail but horrifying in their content. At first I was standing in a large, airy ballroom, with the walls made of glass and looking out onto the street outside. It didn't look like any country I'd ever heard of, but somehow I knew that this was Alicante, the capital city of Idris. And my mother—how could she be here? Mundanes weren't allowed in the country—was on her knees at the front of the room, her head in her hands as if she was praying or sobbing. She was making choked noises, and as I drew closer I realized that she was screaming my name, over and over.

"Mom!" I cried, and immediately broke into a run, sprinting toward her, but just as she turned around the scene dissolved and I was in a completely different place. This was a room equally as large, but it seemed more forbidding, intimidating somehow, and very old. There was a long table in the middle of the room, and stars painted on the floor. Runes decorated the walls and ceiling, but I was too preoccupied to decipher any of them. Again I saw someone kneeling in the middle of the room, but this time it was my father, his blond hair streaked red with blood and his face dirtied. He was staring up at a Silent Brother. Their hood was pulled up so I couldn't see their face. "Brother Zachariah," my father said, and with a jolt I realized it was the first time I had ever heard his voice—an almost disappointingly ordinary American accent, but colored with worry. "You have to help me. I believe a Greater Demon has placed a curse on my family. I need to contact Marcus and my parents once more. _Please_."

But I didn't hear the Silent Brother's answer, since the surroundings were shifting and blurring yet again.

And lastly, I saw Tessa kneeling in front of the grave which was clearly marked _Will Herondale,_ just as it had been in my previous dream, but this time Jem's grave was absent. Her fingers were digging into the grass and tears were streaking down her face; she was in obvious anguish.

Then everything began to fade, slowly, as if I was watching television and the signal was beginning to cut out. I tried to move, but I was frozen in place.

* * *

I shuddered awake, gasping and sweating. The dreams were already slipping away from me even as I came back to the real world, shaking madly. I tried in vain to recall the memory of my father's voice, but I couldn't be sure that it was even his real voice, and there was no way that my mother could be in Alicante. The scenario of Tessa at Will's grave might perhaps be possible, but I doubted Will would allow himself to be buried without his _parabatai_ resting right beside him.

I turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but I kept seeing the images flash in front of my eyes: my mother's panic, my father's urgency, Tessa's agony…God, there was no way I was going to get to sleep tonight.

Jem's words from his tour of the Institute came back to me then: _The attic is the best place to get some air if you are feeling claustrophobic._ After a quick glance at my tiny window, I guessed he was right.

After pulling on a dressing-gown and finding a witchlight, I crept out into the hallway. It was so quiet I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. For once, there was no violin to tease the silence. Even Jem must be asleep.

The attic was only a floor above my bedroom; I could feel fresh air as soon as I stepped inside. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one who had decided to take a midnight stroll.

"What are you doing here, future girl?" Will asked sullenly. I closed my hand over the witchlight so that I couldn't see his sneering face.

"Because I want to be," I replied bravely. Something about not being able to see him gave me courage, as if I was merely thinking the words rather than saying them out loud.

He made a dissatisfied noise, and after a beat of silence I continued, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Because I want to be," Will echoed. "Now hurry off. It must be past your bedtime."

I narrowed my eyes, although I knew he couldn't see it. "Why are you so cruel to me—to everyone? I don't understand why Jem thinks there is some…inherent goodness in you. You have been nothing but unkind to me, and yet he still thinks I should forgive you."

"Jem does not understand me any more than you do," Will said shortly. "You can think of him as my moral compass, if it makes you feel any better." Now I was sure he was smirking.

But I plunged forth, the questions suddenly spilling out of me now that I had found the nerve. "Are there no brothels or gambling houses open this time of night? Why else would you be in the attic instead of skulking the streets like everyone seems to think you do?"

"You go on about the strangest things, and not in a good way. Has anyone ever told you that?" Will's voice was sharp, cutting across the room like a seraph blade, and I flinched away from him, some of my old instincts rushing back. But I knew I had to stand my ground; if not for my sake, then for Tessa's. After all she had done for me, I was determined that she received some answers of her own.

"Listen, Will, I don't care if you're rude to me. I've met too many people exactly like you for words to have any real effect on me anymore. But I know that there are…others…who care deeply what you think of them, and I suggest that you stop being so unpleasant." I was thinking, of course, about his and Tessa's kiss in this very room earlier today, which she had confided to me after dinner.

"Did Tessa put you up to this?" And then he said, quietly to himself, "No, she wouldn't do that." He cleared his throat, and I was glad I couldn't see his face. "Listen, future girl, being the martyr doesn't suit you. Go back to avoiding my gaze and squeaking whenever I so much as mention you. It's more amusing that way."

"For you, maybe, but not for me." Little did he know that I was secretly inking Strength and Courage runes onto my arms as he spoke, making it much easier for me to say what I really thought. The words were just tumbling out of my mouth now. "Can't you just be civil for one minute?"

"Such unexpected audacity." Now he sounded amused. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"I was just—" I'd been about to speak before stopping myself. "Never mind." When he didn't answer, I plunged forth anyway, explaining about my dreams—but leaving out the part where Tessa had been at his grave. I supposed not even Will deserved to hear something like that. "Now I'm wondering if I _am_ under some sort of curse…it would make sense, and maybe it had something to do with me being sent back in time. I don't know why I would have those dreams, but they've been occurring often."

"You know nothing of curses," Will said, more sharply than I'd expected. I bit my lip, hurt but not surprised at the ice in his tone. "Good night, Abby." I heard his boots stomping across the floor, but he paused when he stopped in front of me. I could feel his gaze boring holes through me even in the darkness.

"Wait," I said, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "How many tests have I passed?"

"All of them. Even the ones you did not know about." Without seeing his face, I couldn't ascertain his expression, but now I was sure he was smirking. He tugged on my hair in an almost affectionate sort of way, as if I was a little sister, and then I heard his footsteps stomping out of the room as he left.

Will, I was beginning to realize, had a tendency to completely and utterly shock whoever he spoke to—except, perhaps, Jem. I replayed our conversation back over in my head three times, and was still unsure whether he was angry at me or not. When my muscles finally unfroze, I stood up and walked to the open window, staring at the street below illuminated in the moonlight. I half-imagined I could hear a phantom violin playing downstairs, but I knew that it was my over-exhausted brain playing tricks on me, in the same way as I thought I saw someone moving around outside.

 _Was_ it a hallucination? I leaned farther over the balcony, breathing in the cool night air, and saw that I hadn't been mistaken: a tall, dark figure was striding down the front walk of the Institute, his shoulders braced against the rain that had started to fall. I didn't need a pair of binoculars to know that it was Will, off on whatever midnight walks he went on.

As if he could somehow sense my thoughts, he slowed and turned back to the Institute, as if he was searching for something. I raised my hand, unsure myself why I was doing it. I didn't expect him to respond, but I thought I saw a brief flash of white as he grinned.

And then he was gone, and the iron gate had closed behind him, leaving me alone once again.


	18. Eighteen

**"A** bby, Henry would like to see you in his laboratory." Tessa smiled reassuringly at me, her grey eyes warm and friendly, though not without a hint of concern.

I glanced up from where I'd been lying on my bed, reading my father's journal—it was an invaluable comfort to me, much like her clockwork angel was to her—and somewhat embarrassedly snapped it shut, shoving it under my pillows and standing up. "Thanks, Tessa," I told her as I headed out of the room, pulling my hair up into a bun and deliberately avoiding her gaze. I didn't want to see the worry in her eyes—I was sure she had come to the same conclusion as I had about _why_ Henry wanted to see me. He didn't often call people down into his lab for no good reason. And then I was immediately ashamed at myself: a month ago, news about the Portal would have been exactly what I wanted. Had I really been pushing the thought out of my mind that someday I would have to go back to 1978? What did I have there, anyway, aside from my mother? Better yet—if she were here with me, would I even _want_ to go back? But my mind, as usual, shied away from the answers. I was pretty sure I knew what they would be.

I'd officially been living at the London Institute for a month, but the thirty days had gone by as quickly as if it had only been half the time. This was largely in part due to the people inside it, and their ways of distracting me—namely, of course, Jem and Tessa, whom I'd both become close with in a way that I had never experienced with anyone before.

Every day, Jem took me on an extensive tour of London, covering a different place each time—including, but not limited to, Hyde Park, the National Gallery, the British Museum, Kew Gardens, the Tower of London (my personal favorite), Traitors' Gate, St. James's Park, and Covent Garden. Tessa joined us on most of these excursions as well, and we gladly welcomed her along. When she had first arrived at the Institute, I had seen her as a rival of sorts for Jem; it had been a childish, girlish jealousy. Only now was I beginning to see how foolish I'd been. Not only was Tessa the best female friend I'd ever had, and my guide of sorts to the Victorian period—she never hesitated to tell me when I did something completely out of time and place, and was herself eager to learn more about the future—she helped me through my conflicted feelings about Jem. She herself was struggling with her caring for Will, who had been nothing but moody and silent to her since they had reportedly kissed, and we often exchanged advice, although neither of us were particularly good at it.

Despite the fact that we had both admitted our feelings for each other, Jem and I still hadn't even mentioned our precarious relationship, much less kissed again, in the time that had elapsed since our talk in the music room. I knew that neither of us wanted to rush into anything, since we were both practical and pragmatic for the most part, but on the other hand there just wasn't enough _time,_ and more than once I had just wanted to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him full on the mouth. We were both testing the waters, I supposed, and perhaps his showing me around London was a sort of courtship method. But even so, I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to expect with him, and when I'd confided this to Tessa she had merely sighed, saying that we were both too hesitant to broach the subject of anything more than a friendship.

But my confused and complicated feelings for Jem were, at the moment, the least of my worries. Mortmain and Nate—who had somehow managed to find the Pyxis from where I had thrown it into the shrubbery—still hadn't been tracked down, and earlier that morning we had all attended a Clave meeting, where Charlotte and Henry were put in charge of the investigation into Mortmain's whereabouts. Benedict Lightwood would become Head of the Institute if he was not found within two weeks. It was clear that it was both a punishment and a test for Charlotte, and therefore all the residents of the Institute, even moody Jessamine, had spent the afternoon searching old newspaper records for anything that might pertain to him in some way. Unluckily, we hadn't been successful.

Everything was happening in two-week increments, I thought idly. It had been two weeks from my arrival in 1878 to when Tessa had arrived, two weeks between then and now, and Charlotte had two weeks to find Mortmain. Maybe in two weeks after _that,_ I would get to go home. The thought gave me a twisting feeling in my stomach that wasn't entirely pleasant.

"Abby!" I heard my name being called across the corridor, and I paused with one hand on the railing, turning back to see a slight, silvery-haired figure walking toward me; I hadn't even heard his pursuit. A brief wave of embarrassment washed over me—Jem and I hadn't often been alone since that day in the music room, and I was never sure what to say when I was alone with him for fear of breaking the tension that had steadily built up between us for the past fortnight. But my uncertainty was quickly forgotten when I saw that he was leaning on his cane—it had been nearly a week since I'd last seen him with it.

"Hello, Jem," I said as formally as I could, mustering up a smile.

He stopped on the step above mine; with a flash of worry I noticed that he was more ashen and unsteady than usual. "I'm feeling a bit tired today and Charlotte suggested that I go for a walk. Would you like to come along?"

"Oh," I sighed, sure my disappointment was written all over my face, "I'd love to, but Henry called me down to his lab. I don't think I'll be very long, but maybe Tessa would like to go."

I saw Jem's face fall almost imperceptibly; I wondered if he had come to the same conclusion as I had for the reason Henry wanted to talk to me. "I can go with you if you want," he offered, and for a moment I considered asking him to come down with me. But I didn't want to face his pity if Henry really _had_ created the Portal, and I didn't want him to see my disappointment if he hadn't.

"Thanks for offering, Jem, but I think I'll be fine," I told him. "I'll come and find you later, all right?"

"Of course," Jem said gallantly, taking a step back. I saw that his knuckles were tight on the handle of his cane, and I briefly considered telling him to take a nap, since he was looking even more exhausted than Charlotte lately, but I didn't want to sound like I was nagging. Instead I turned around and continued to head on my way, hyperaware of his eyes on me as I left.

* * *

Despite it being late June, it was freezing in the crypt, although part of it was likely my imagination. I shivered and drew my shawl tighter around me as I hopped down the last of the stairs into the laboratory, idly wondering how Henry could stand the cold in the winter.

At first glance, the room appeared to be empty, although the tables were covered in objects that were whizzing or squeaking or making some other equally distracting noise. Henry was nowhere to be seen. After standing awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment, I cleared my throat and was about to call out for him when in the air in front of me flared up with a sudden bright blue light, so brilliant that I staggered backward and had to cover my eyes. It appeared a perfect replica of the Portal I had seen in the desert at first, but as my eyes adjusted to the light I saw that the air wasn't shimmering as much, and I didn't feel that reckless desire to jump inside as I had previously.

"I think I've almost got it, Abby!" Henry exclaimed from behind me. I turned to see him hurrying up from some dark corner, his ginger hair singed but his eyes bright and eager. "I've been using the runes from the Gray Book, but I can't seem to find any that fit exactly right. Can you remember anything else about the Portal, anything at all?"

I struggled to cast my mind back a month, which was surprisingly difficult. My memories all appeared to be crammed with events from the past four weeks. "Um, I think the door was larger. And it shimmered…and as strange as it sounds, it had a sort of magnetic pull to it."

Henry's face drooped and I instantly felt sorry for him. No doubt he had been working through all hours of the day and night to try to figure out the exact formula. I glanced over at the table and saw all manner of complicated mathematical formulas and figures scattered over its surface. The pieces of the clockwork spider that Will had managed to salvage from the Dark Sisters' mansion in Highgate were piled up on an adjoining surface.

"The spider had a tracking charm placed on it," Henry explained, following my gaze. "That's how it always managed to find you no matter where you were. I suspect it was running on something akin to demon energies."

I bit my lip. _What about at the motel? How could it—or some other spider—follow me there? Had Mortmain made more of them?_ "Henry—" I began, but cut myself off when I saw Charlotte standing in the entrance to the room.

"Benedict Lightwood would like to speak to you, Abby," she said. Her face was pale and drawn, but determined. "He is in the drawing-room."

" _Me?"_ I asked in astonishment. "Why does he want to speak to me?"

"He did not divulge the reason for his visit," Charlotte replied. With a last glance and an apology at Henry, who looked disappointed, I quietly left the lab, walking back upstairs and listening to the low murmur of them talking—what about, I had no idea. I just wished Charlotte had kept me company.

Jem had unfortunately disappeared when I found myself above ground again, and with a set jaw I walked to the drawing-room, my mind mulling over all the reasons why Benedict Lightwood would conceivably want to talk to me. Was he trying to use me to get to Charlotte? Granted, I _was_ probably the Institute's weakest point at this moment, but surely he would think of less obvious ways to worm his way inside…

Benedict was standing in the middle of the room when I arrived, his lip curled disdainfully as if he didn't want to get too close to anything in it. When I stepped inside, he merely looked impatient, as if he'd been waiting there for a long time. "There you are, Miss Cartwright," he said. "I have been meaning to speak to you for a time, but it has never been convenient until now."

I wasn't sure what my appropriate response should be, so I settled for smiling thinly and saying rather lamely, "Well, I'm here now. What do you want to speak to me about?"

Benedict's eyebrows raised slightly, and he looked displeased as he replied, "It is a rather…delicate matter. I would prefer it if we were to discuss it in the library."

I blinked in surprise, half-looking around as if someone would pop out of thin air and help me. But none came, of course, and I was left on my own.

"Of course," I said after another moment. Before I could move to open the door, Benedict was already striding forward, walking down the corridor as if _he_ was the head of the Institute. I quickly gathered up my skirts and hurried after him, sure that it wouldn't reflect well on Charlotte if one of her own wards couldn't even show a guest to the library.

To make matters even worse, who should I run right into but Will, standing at the entrance to the library. Benedict barely gave him a cursory nod as he strode past, and Will's gaze slid from him to me, where he raised one eyebrow, clearly demanding an explanation.

"He wanted to speak to me," I told him, trying to inch past. Will, however, stayed firmly in place.

"About what?" he asked none too kindly. "Your mutual adoration of literature? Shall you recommend Shakespeare or Coleridge to him? Personally, I would suggest something a little less advanced, such as _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ —"

"Miss Cartwright," Benedict's voice drawled from inside, "Unlike certain other Shadowhunters who can sit in the library all day or claim to be ill for weeks on end, I cannot afford to be kept waiting."

Will's face turned a bright shade of scarlet in anger, and I took this opportunity to slip past him and push the door shut behind me. I had to admit, it felt very satisfying closing a door right in Will Herondale's face.

Benedict was standing in front of the bookshelf that housed all the volumes of Shadowhunter histories and genealogy, running a long finger over their spines. "Sit," he ordered, as if I were a guest in _his_ Institute.

"What is it, sir?" I asked tentatively, gripping the sides of the armchair and hoping my fear wasn't too obvious. His smooth expression betrayed nothing.

"I was just curious to know what your father's name was," he said in an even, smooth voice, with no inflection or tone at all to it. His interest sounded merely clinical.

My mouth went very dry and I swallowed hard, frantically trying to remember what my cover story was. What had I told the Cartwrights? "His name was Albert," I replied, my voice cracking with nerves. "Albert Cartwright."

"And your mother?"

"Estelle…Townsend."

Benedict turned from his perusal of the books and stared coldly at me, his green eyes as lifeless as the vampires had looked at de Quincey's. "That is strange," he said in a musing tone. "According to the records, the last Cartwright to visit America was named Samuel, three decades ago. He never married and died twenty-five years ago."

"Perhaps my parents weren't on the records," I answered, trying to sound convinced and failing. How much had he found out?

Benedict looked coldly amused, his mouth twisting into a slight smirk. "Perhaps," he repeated, "But I think it is more likely that you were taken in by Charlotte by some illegal means and she fabricated a cover story for you, since you resemble that family. Does that sound more familiar?"

I didn't dare to answer this time. He was obviously trying to twist the blame on Charlotte so that the Clave could find something else to fault her with. Since the circumstances of my arrival were vague at best, of course he would assume that she had something to do with it.

Unfortunately, Benedict saw right through my poor attempt at nonchalance and his smirk grew even wider, like a cat that had swallowed the canary. "Your silence is answer enough, Miss _Cartwright_ ," he said disparagingly. "I want to know who you are, why you lied about your parents, and why Charlotte took you in. Is it because you know something she doesn't, perhaps about Mortmain? It is not often that American girls, and untrained Nephilim at that, arrive in London without so much as a pence to their name and with no other family. You have come to the country for a reason."

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," I managed to say, but didn't dare to meet his eyes. "…Sir."

"Would you say the same if you were holding the Mortal Sword?" he asked quietly. "I can take you to the Silent City right now and learn the truth—"

The library doors swung open and I leapt out of the armchair, nearly falling into the fireplace in shock. Will strode in first, closely followed by Jem, who was still leaning on his cane. I felt a heady rush of gratefulness to both of them—I'd never been so happy to see Will before.

"Our apologies for interrupting your pleasant chat," said Will, grabbing me by the elbow and pulling me away from Benedict, "But Abby is quite busy at the moment helping us search for Mortmain—I'm sure you can understand. If there is anything you wished to ask her, Charlotte would be more than happy to answer you."

Benedict's lip was now curled in disgust. He shoved the book he had been holding back onto the shelf and started toward us. Will yanked on my arm yet again and dragged me out of the library into the corridor next to Jem.

"I see," Benedict said in a soft voice, looking back and forth between the three of us. "Yes, I shall ask Charlotte that very question. Good day, Mr Herondale, Mr Carstairs, and Miss…Cartwright. Give my regards to the warlock girl." He pushed past Jem as he retreated, his elbow shoving right into Jem's chest. I was close enough that I could hear Jem's slight gasp of pain, and glanced worriedly at him, seeing that he'd doubled over slightly.

Will watched him until he'd disappeared out of sight, his fists clenched. I reached out and curled my fingers around Jem's wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He smiled tiredly at me.

"Were you listening to the conversation?" I asked, unable to stop myself from narrowing my eyes at Will, who looked completely unabashed.

"What else would you have us do, future girl?" Will shot back, turning to us. "He looked as if he was about to force-feed you poison."

"He wanted me to take the Mortal Sword and tell him everything," I explained. "He thinks Charlotte is part of some conspiracy theory. I have no idea why he would connect it to _me,_ though."

"It would not have been a disaster even if he had given you the Mortal Sword," Jem said reasonably, but his voice was tinged with exhaustion. "The Silent Brothers know who you are and where you come from. Since they know you wish to keep it a secret, they would not have divulged the information to Benedict."

My shoulders relaxed and now it was my turn to smile at him; I hadn't thought of that point. "But now he _knows_ that Charlotte is keeping something from him. No offense, but you weren't exactly subtle about dragging me out of there."

"So you're suggesting we should have said, 'Our apologies, Mr Lightwood, but we do not appreciate you questioning Abby when she is obviously hiding something. Since she is an appalling liar, we decided to intervene'?" Will asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"No, you should have just—"

But Will never got to find out what he "should have just" done, for Jessamine came stalking down the corridor towards us, looking irate. She was wearing a pair of men's trousers and a waistcoat, while her hair was braided and stuffed under a large hat. As we gaped at her strange appearance, she demanded, "Will, you must do something about Benedict Lightwood. He is snooping around in all of the rooms, and when I saw him trying to enter my bedroom he said he was lost."

Will muttered, "Lost, my—"

"Just _do_ something about it!" Jessamine screeched. With an exaggerated sigh, Will pushed himself off the wall and headed in the direction of the stairs, muttering something about Jessamine's outfit making her delusional. She ran after him, flapping her arms, like a mother goose scolding her goslings.

When they had disappeared, I turned back to Jem, who had been unusually silent for the latter half of the conversation. He was leaning forward slightly, his arm wrapped around his stomach. "Jem?"I asked anxiously as he began to cough, the hacking sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

 _Oh, God,_ I thought, frantically searching around for help. But Will and Jessamine were gone, and I had no idea where any of the others were.

Blood was now visible on Jem's hand, seeping through his fingers and dripping onto the floor. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing coming in irregular gasps. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he collapsed into me, the weight of his body pressing against my side. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up for longer than three seconds, and we both ended up falling to the floor, his cane clattering onto the ground.

"Jem," I whispered, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead, which was dripping with sweat. "You have to get up. I can't carry you—"

His eyes opened slightly, focusing on me for barely a moment before he went limp again. His head rested on my lap, and I brushed strands of hair out of his face, watching in horror as blood gathered at the corners of his mouth. He began to cough again, and I felt sick with worry.

My eyes fell on his cane, lying some feet away, and I had a sudden, desperate idea. Keeping one hand on his arm, I reached over and grabbed the handle, pulling it towards me. At the same time, I gently took his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position so that he wouldn't choke on the blood, forcing the handle of the cane into his right hand. _Raziel, please let this work,_ I prayed, but I didn't have time to be proud of myself for using the Angel's name. Jem was gasping now, taking deep rattling breaths that sounded as if he was struggling for air. Throwing all my strength into the movement, I pulled myself to my feet, and Jem rose with me. His hands shook uncontrollably on the cane. He was still leaning into me, but at least this time the majority of his weight was on the cane and I could manage to stagger forward.

The only sound now was Jem's stifled gasps, and his entire body was shaking so hard that I had to brace myself against the wall so that I wouldn't fall over again. Both of us were now covered in blood and there was a trail of crimson stains on the floor. I thought briefly of poor Sophie having to clean up the mess before Jem rasped out, "Abby…I need—I need—"

Whatever was he going to say—you? The drug? Will?—was drowned out in his next fit of coughing. This time he lost all semblance of balance, and collapsed again, his eyes rolling back in his head. Luckily we were close enough to his room for me to grab him by the shoulders and half-carry, half-drag him inside, ignoring my arms screaming in pain as I lifted him onto the bed. As soon as I let go of him, whirling around to look for his _yin fen_ box, I felt a firm hand grab my wrist and yank me back toward him, his grip stronger than I thought. Jem's eyes were open again, the silver irises wheeling around wildly. He began to shout in Mandarin, his fingers gripping my arm so hard I could feel bruises already beginning to form. I remembered what Will had said about his fits when he became very ill, and Sophie telling me that Will was the only one who could calm him down. But I didn't have time to get help. Damn it, there just wasn't enough _time—_

Jem suddenly sucked in a loud breath, his hands momentarily loosening on my skin as he began to thrash about on the bed, his shouts becoming more desperate. I recognized a few words from when he'd been teaching me Mandarin, like "Mother" and "Father", but the rest was an incoherent mess. I was sure that I wouldn't have been able to fully understand even if I _had_ known the language.

My muscles seemed to unfreeze all of a sudden, and I was struck by how stupid I must seem, staring at him like an idiot when he was in such a state. I nearly flew over to the table, grabbing the jug of water and filling it up before spooning out a handful of _yin fen_ and dumping it into the cup. Water sloshed over the sides and I could feel my skin burning as a sprinkling of the powder landed on my hand. But I ignored it, instead wheeling around and hurrying back to the bed, where I tried to force the cup into his hand. But Jem was still completely out of it, tossing and turning almost violently. There was no way I would be able to hold him still, unless—

I placed the glass of water on the edge of the table, within easy reach, before taking a deep breath and literally throwing myself onto him, pinning him down onto the bed as best as I could. It wasn't an easy task—his arms were still waving about, but I threaded my fingers through his and pushed them down onto either side of his head. My knees were digging into the blankets on either side of his waist, and although I was straddling him I held myself so that we weren't touching, even though I could feel the heat burning up through his clothes. I felt a peculiar rush of heat through my own body that had nothing to do with illness.

"Jem, please calm down," I begged, knowing full well that my words wouldn't help in the least. His pupils were wide, the silver almost swallowed up by the black. He was still lashing around under me, and I could feel my arms begin to shake as the strength started to leave them. In one last desperate attempt, I snatched the glass off the table and brought it to his lips, holding his head down with my other hand so he couldn't turn away. Tilting the glass forward, I poured some water into his mouth, watching in distress as he choked and spluttered, but I saw the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. After a moment of bated breath, I plunged forward and emptied the entire glass down his throat. Jem gave a loud, shuddering gasp, and finally lay still.

The cup slipped from my trembling hand and shattered onto the floor in an ear-splitting crash, but I barely noticed the noise. My heart was doing backflips in my chest, and I felt dizzy. I had never been this terrified before, not even when I was being pursued by the spider or chased by Nate.

The moment stretched on, agonizing in its silence—I swore that all the clocks stopped ticking and everything in the world paused in its ceaseless rush towards death—and then Jem's eyes flew open, heavy-lidded and unfocused—but he was alive.

He was alive, and time had restarted.

I exhaled the breath I hadn't even been aware I was holding before taking in great, greedy gasps of air as I fell to the side on the pillows next to him. _He's alive,_ I kept thinking over and over. _He's alive._ But try as I might, I couldn't erase the memory of the agony in his eyes as he thrashed around on the bed, crying out for his parents.

"Abby," Jem murmured, his voice husky. "You saved my life. It was almost too late—"

"Don't talk like that," I demanded, closing my eyes and welcoming the darkness. "Someone else would have eventually helped you. I didn't do anything."

"They wouldn't have gone as far as what you did," Jem replied, and was that something like _embarrassment_ in his voice? "I am…I am sorry that you saw me like this. It is not something I would wish for you to witness—"

I shook my head and started to sit up—though my legs were by now jelly and I probably would have fallen straight to the floor—but again Jem held me back, although his touch was light this time and I could have easily broken it. "There is some _yin fen_ on your fingers," he said, concern in his voice as he turned my palm over in his own hand.

"It's fine," I told him. "I'll just wash it off—"

But he didn't let me finish my sentence; before my incredulous eyes, he slowly lifted my hand to his mouth, softly brushing his lips across each of my fingers and never taking his eyes off mine. I was shuddering again, but with desire this time rather than fear. I had never before wanted to kiss someone so badly, and my body physically ached with the distance between us as I closed my eyes at his touch, his mouth lingering on each finger as he cleaned them of the drug.

"It is dangerous," he said after another moment, and his voice was uneven too. But my mind was in such a frenzy that I wasn't sure if he was talking about the _yin fen_ or whatever connection that existed between us, that only seemed to grow stronger with each meeting.

"Jem," I whispered as his eyes fluttered closed again, drawing my hand back from him. Now I put my own fingers to my lips, tasting the remnants of the drug on my tongue and the scent of Jem's mouth, remembering the taste of our kiss in the carriage.

"Stay with me," he gasped. "Please."

How could I say no to him? Moving very slowly, I stretched out on the bed beside him, our bodies not quite touching. I rolled onto my side and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, afraid that every breath would be his last one.

* * *

The shadows were beginning to grow longer when Jem stirred, his silver eyes opening and fixing on me with a gentle gaze. I blushed as I remembered his mouth on my fingers, the softness of his lips on my skin…somehow that simple touch had seemed more intimate than any kiss could ever be.

"You stayed," he said, smiling as brightly as if I had accepted a marriage proposal. There seemed an infinite amount of joy and optimism in those two syllables, and not for the first time I felt unworthy of his affection, even if it turned out to be merely platonic.

"I wouldn't leave you," I said, and was surprised at how vehement I sounded. Jem's eyes widened in astonished delight, and I had to look away from the intensity of his gaze. "I mean it. It doesn't matter whether it's just as friends or…or something more, whatever _this_ is—"

Jem pushed himself up on his elbows, looking at me with concern. "Are you speaking of the past weeks? I wished to give you time to think about it, to be absolutely sure you made the right decision."

"I think my decision was made the moment I kissed you," I whispered.

Our lips were just inches apart, and this time he closed the distance between us, his mouth meeting mine tenderly, carefully.

We had kissed once before, but I had been too shocked and overwhelmed to properly process what was happening, and it had only lasted a moment or two, a brief press of lips. This time was completely different.

It was leisurely, less hurried. I had absolutely no idea how to kiss, and frankly had never understood it—what did people _do_ when their lips were locked for minutes at a time? How could they even breathe?—but Jem led me along carefully, kissing each side of my mouth and allowing me room to breathe. Everything else melted away from around me but _Jem_ —sweet, kind Jem, whose kisses were as soft as the boy himself. I threaded my hand around his fingers, pressing as close to him on the bed as I could get without sitting on his lap, and didn't let him go when his lips found mine again, kissing him back with all the strength I possessed.

This seemed to unlock something inside of him, and soon the kisses turned harder and faster, his mouth pressing more urgently against mine like he had been dying of thirst and finally found water. I let out a small gasp—all the movies I'd seen, all the books I'd read, had never described this feeling of an urgency, like fire through my veins—and all I knew was that I wanted to get as close as possible to Jem _now_ , and nothing else mattered—

His hands were brushing the hair out of my face, trailing across my cheekbones and my jaw, slowly moving down my shoulders and sending a shiver through me. Now I was kissing him harder, both of us hurtling through barriers we didn't understand, going faster than we probably should have been because there wasn't enough _time_. There would never be enough time, not even if we had eternity.

My hair was falling out of its bun, but I barely noticed; my hands were on the flat of his back, feeling the bones under his skin. I felt so _alive_ : though my eyes were closed, I could hear our mingled breathing, nearly gasps in the quiet room, whenever we drew back for air; I could feel his soft lips pressing against mine, pushing them back into my teeth; and I could taste the salt on his lips and feel the sweat that had accumulated against his skin—or was it mine? I couldn't tell whether he ended and I began anymore.

I finally understood, then, why someone would die for love. I understood why my mother had never looked for romance again after Dad. Some tiny part of me was aware that I would probably meet the same fate as her, but I didn't care right then. Worrying would happen later, when I wasn't so tangled up in Jem. Even his name sounded holy. _Jem._ I was whispering his name against his mouth, chanting the syllable over and over like I was praying.

And then his hands curved in the arch of my back and pulled me onto his lap. Heat burned a steady fire through me as I ran my own hands through his hair, keeping his face firmly pressed to mine. His heart was slamming against my chest, and I was sure mine was beating just as quickly. But my mind was racing ahead, and it occurred to me that I had been dreaming of this moment for weeks now, ever since I'd first met him. Even during the first night I had spent at the Institute, while he was standing outside my door, I had been dreaming of him in the moonlight, still and pale.

Somehow we fell back onto the bed together, Jem's leg already winding around my waist and sending jolts of pleasure throughout my entire body, ready to position himself above me—and it was then that a door slammed in the distance, breaking us apart with it. I shot up, springing to my feet guiltily and smoothing down my dress while Jem sat up slower, never looking away from me.

"Oh, God," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, his eyes very bright as if he had just taken his entire quantity of _yin fen_. His lips were red and swollen, his hair mussed and disheveled. Now he looked dazed, as if he had been jolted out of a dream.

"Where did you learn to kiss like that?" I gasped, sure my eyes were as round as saucers. I took a step back from him, half-afraid that I would leap onto him again if I came any closer.

"I didn't," Jem said matter-of-factly. He was beginning to compose himself now, his gaze turning curious. "Do you…do you not regret that?"

" _Regret_ it?" I asked in astonishment, looking frantically around for some sort of paper so that I could fan myself. I was sure my face was still bright red from the frenzied kiss, and I tried to grin flippantly. "How can I regret something like that? I mean—that was—" I scrambled for the correct words and came up woefully short.

"That is not how I imagined it would turn out," Jem admitted. "I imagined something slightly less wild." He grinned lopsidedly, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Perhaps Charlotte was correct and we _do_ need a chaperone. I am amazed that she had the foresight to see this coming."

"Not Will," I immediately said. "He hates me."

"Will does not hate you. Abby, I have seen the way he acts around those he truly dislikes. He is no crueler to you than he is to the others at the Institute." Jem sighed, turning serious.

"Well, I would imagine he has other things on his mind," I said, thinking of Tessa. Had her kiss with Will been as passionate, as intense as the one I'd just experienced with Jem? Knowing Will, it probably had been. It was Jem one wouldn't expect to be so…fervent. I glanced back between our intertwined hands and Jem's face. "Should we…I mean, should we let the others know about it now?" _Whatever "it" is. There's no pretending that I only care about Jem as a friend anymore, not since I was about five seconds from tearing his clothes off._

He patted down his hair with his free hand, erasing all evidence that I'd ever been running my fingers through it. "It is up to you, Abby. I daresay they will find out soon, at any rate, if we continue to embrace in such a way with the door open."

"I think I'd better tell Tessa before she has a heart attack," I said wryly. "She was your most fervent supporter."

A blush spread up from Jem's neck to his cheeks; it was ridiculously endearing. "I take it she told you about our conversation on Blackfriars Bridge?"

"Not the particulars," I assured him. "Just that you cared deeply for me but were wary to admit your feelings. Wariness that was," I added firmly, "Unnecessary. I'll be by your side as long as I'm here, Jem Carstairs. Never forget that."

There was a movement from the door, and I spun around to see Sophie. She was standing in the entrance, looking stricken. "I checked your room to see if you were there, but it appears you were otherwise engaged," she said.

"Sophie," I said immediately, letting go of Jem's hand and stepping forward. "Sophie, I am sorry—"

But she had already left the room and was gone. Distraught, I buried my face in my hands. Jem put a soft hand on my shoulder. "Abby, what is it?" he asked, worried.

It took me a full twenty seconds before I could raise my head, staring anguished at him. Should I tell him? Could I betray Sophie's trust like that? "It's…it's nothing, Jem," I said. "It was just me."


	19. Nineteen

**I** expected Jem to press the point and ask me another question about Sophie, but he just sank back onto his pillows, looking troubled. I expected that becoming used to lies and secrets came with the territory when Will Herondale was your _parabatai._

"Are you feeling all right now?" I asked, leaning over and hesitantly pressing the back of my hand against his forehead. A small smile appeared on Jem's lips, but his face was still creased in worry.

"Never better," he assured me, although even I could sense the hint of dark irony in his voice. "Abby, I wish you would not touch me like that. I…" A blush covered his cheeks, and he quickly closed his eyes, as if berating himself for misspeaking.

"Huh?" I asked none too articulately, reluctantly taking my hand away from him. "Then how do you want me to touch you?" _I definitely could have worded that better…_

Now Jem was evidently embarrassed, his eyes darting between me and the blankets, as if they held some fascinating secret. "I wish you would not behave as if you were merely acting the part of nurse. I want you to touch me the way you were…before, not as if I am some delicate figurine that might shatter at any moment."

"Before," I echoed, and my mind flashed back to the events of several minutes ago, where I had indeed been paying no heed to his illness or treating him like an invalid. _"Oh._ I'm sorry, Jem."

But he was shaking his head. "Please do not apologize. It is not your fault. I am not going to break so easily, Abby. I can assure you of that." Another smile crossed his face, but it was humorless and almost bitter. I was unsure how to act, my hand still poised in the air.

"How do you know?" I whispered. He was so pale and paper-thin that I could see his veins, threading intricate patterns just under his skin.

"Try it," he whispered, and I placed my hand on his chest, just below the base of his throat. I could feel his heart against my palm, beating steadily under my touch. This time I wasn't able to keep myself from blushing, and avoided his eyes, but biting my lip to hide my smile all the same.

"Abby," he breathed, and I quickly took my hand away from him, but he was looking at me with a steady, clear gaze. "If you do not mind me asking, why did Henry want to see you?"

Of course, I couldn't lie to him. "He's made progress with the Portal," I admitted. "It's only a matter of time before he actually succeeds with it. I don't know if I should be happy or regretful. At first I would have given anything to be able to go back home. I've only been here a month, but in certain ways it's felt like much longer."

Jem's eyes widened. "And do you…do you want to go home now, Abby?"

I let out a whoosh of air, looking away from him across the room. My eyes were fixed on his _yin fen_ box. To go home would be to go back to a world where he didn't exist, where he was long buried and nothing more than dust under a gravestone. Of course Tessa would still be alive, but there was no guarantee Mom would allow me to see her, or that she would even _want_ to see me. "Yes," I said first, and glanced back worriedly at him when I heard a sharp intake of breath, as if he was in pain. But when I met his eyes, he was only looking at me steadily with his peculiar gaze of silver. "But some part of me doesn't want to leave the people here." _Especially you._ "I know it's silly, but I've grown attached to the Institute. I don't know how I'll be able to cope when I can't talk to you or Tessa, or laugh at Jessamine, or even roll my eyes at Will." My bitterness was suddenly pouring out of me in waves. "The only way I'll be able to see any of you again is when I visit the graveyard."

Jem was silent for a long time, and I wondered if I had offended him. But just as I opened my mouth to apologize, he said, "You cannot wallow in sadness, Abby. You are here now, and when you do go back to your own time you will regret that you spent so much of it not wanting to go back."

"So what you're saying is I should make the most of it?" I echoed, wondering if that was his way of coping as well.

He nodded, and lifted his hand to cup my cheek, brushing his fingers against my jaw. "We cannot worry about the future when it has not arrived yet."

I pulled back from him, keeping his hand firmly clasped between both of mine, still hot with fever. "But that's not it, Jem. I wish—"

The sound of footsteps racing up the staircase outside stopped me, and I moved to stand up, but Jem kept me in his grasp, his expression resolute. I silently groaned when Will strode in, his face closely guarded.

He stopped short when he saw our intertwined hands, his eyes flickering back and forth between Jem and I with a completely unsurprised look. Rather, I was the one who was stunned. "And so it's begun," he said gloomily. "I suppose I shall have to stomach the two of you holding hands and behaving wildly indecently from now on. For future reference, Jem, if you are going to entertain a lady in your bedroom, make sure the door is closed."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jem said dryly, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He seemed stable; unfortunately, the bloodstains on our clothes were now visible, and Will's eyes instantly narrowed.

"James," he said sharply, and the use of his full name made Jem glance up from where I'd helpfully pulled him to his feet. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," Jem replied, even more firmly. "I was not feeling very well and took some _yin fen._ Abby was keeping me company."

Will stared at me suspiciously, but for once I refused to back down from him, meeting his cold blue gaze with as much fire as I could muster. "Charlotte would like to see both of us in the drawing-room," he said after a moment, turning away from me. Unfortunately, it was obvious the conversation was not over, merely postponed, and my heart sank as he continued, "Abby and I shall wait in the corridor while you change. I do not think Charlotte will be very pleased to see you tracking blood all over the Institute."

Jem gave me an apologetic look, and I smiled back as I followed Will out of the room, closing the door behind me. As soon as it had clicked shut Will turned to me, folding his arms. "How ill was he?"

I knew that it would do me no good to play it down, so I reluctantly told him about carrying Jem upstairs and holding him down while giving him the drug. Will's eyebrows gradually raised with each word until they were halfway up his forehead. He seemed unabashedly surprised and almost appreciative. "Well done again, future girl," he said grudgingly when I was finished. "You have surprised me yet again. I would not think you would have done such a thing for Jem."

"Of course I would," I exclaimed, suddenly indignant. "I lo—see Jem as one of my closest friends. There is very little I _wouldn't_ do for him."

Will seemed to consider his next response carefully, a rare occurrence for him, before saying, "Perhaps I was wrong about you. You have saved his life in more ways than you understand. As his _parabatai,_ I suppose I am indebted to you."

"What do you mean?"

"You make Jem happy, and that is all I ever asked for," Will said, and put his hand on my shoulder. "You have always made him happy. He has changed since you arrived. It may not seem like anything to you, but it is a great deal to me and those who know him well."

I was too shocked by his friendly touch to answer right away. "Then what was the point of all those 'tests' if you know that he cared for me all along?" I accused, managing to point a reproachful finger at him.

Will looked, even more astonishingly, as if he was about to laugh. "They weren't for _him_ —they were for you. I had to make sure you could be counted on."

"And if I couldn't?"

He grinned at me. "You don't want to know. Perhaps if you had more of an interest in literature, I could direct you to a certain novel about mysterious disappearances—"

I pretended to be amused, but I couldn't help feeling grateful that Jem had such a loyal _parabatai._ I'd always gotten the impression that Will and Jem were closer than most friends, most _parabatai_ even, so it was a rather reassuring prospect to know that Will and I had common ground on at least one topic. "Thank you, Mr Herondale," I said formally, grinning behind my hand.

"I think we are past that formality now," he pointed out, as if he was doing me a great favor. "You may call me Will."

"And _you_ may call me Abby," I shot back. "My name is not 'future girl."

Now Will's eyes were sparkling with some sort of amusement, and while I considered asking him if he had one too many drinks Jem's door opened again and he stepped out in a clean white shirt and trousers. "Would you like to come along, Abby?" he asked, and I imagined his eyes softened when he saw me. "I'm sure Charlotte wouldn't mind—"

"No," said Will, and we both looked at him: in the ten seconds since Jem had appeared, he had turned temperamental and scowling again. My head was spinning from his sudden mood change, but something about his tone sounded resigned, though I couldn't place why. "If she wanted to speak to Abby, she would have specified it."

At least he was using my real name, I thought dryly, trying to hide my disappointment as Will set off down the hallway again. Jem hesitated for a second before reaching down and kissing me on the forehead, his lips warm and soft. I felt blood rush to my face as he smiled tenderly at me, squeezing my hand, before heading off after Will, looking respectively like the white and black knights I supposed they were.

Tessa and Sophie were probably still up in the training room with Gideon and Gabriel—the two Lightwood boys had been assigned to teach them the basics in the art of defending themselves. Luckily I was exempt from this practice, since Jem had mercifully trained me the first two weeks I'd been at the Institute. Although our training sessions had all but stopped, I would still occasionally head up to the training room to practice. Unfortunately, with its current residents those visits seemed like they would become fewer and farther between. I didn't like Gabriel, and assumed his older brother was much the same way.

So I headed off to the music room, knowing that it would be my last refuge. I'd been practicing a new melody that I was eager to show Jem, a lesser-known piece by Bach. Trying not to think about who I would play for once I got back to 1978, I slid onto the piano bench and began to play, letting my fingers fly over the keys. But I was barely consulting the sheet music anymore; I was instead thinking of what had happened between Jem and I earlier this afternoon—him nearly choking on his own blood, my terror as I'd forced the _yin fen_ down his throat; and then the feel of his lips on mine, the shivers of pleasure that jolted through my body at his hands on me, and Will's expression when he had touched my shoulder, something that was almost affection…

The music had wildly deviated from its intended course, taking on a new form that I'd never heard before and that certainly wasn't Bach. It almost seemed to be propelled by my thoughts, giving tangibility to the memories. I hadn't ever tried composing my own music, being too caught up in trying to replicate the classics for my recitals. But this was so freeing, so limitless, that I was left wondering why I'd never tried it before. I didn't have the expectations of symbols on a page to conform to; no preconceptions of what I should strive to sound like. Of course, I wasn't perfect—the tune would probably have sounded grating to someone else's ears, and some of my notes were off-key, but I didn't care. Bach was now all but forgotten, as I closed my eyes and let myself play by ear, thinking of Jem's warm mouth pressing against my skin, and perhaps what could have happened if Sophie hadn't interrupted us—

"Abby?" a soft voice asked, breaking through my reverie. I tried to stifle my frustration as I stopped playing and turned around on the bench to see Tessa standing in the doorway with a book tucked under her arm as usual, back in her normal dress and her red cheeks the only sign that she had been exercising. "I am sorry to bother you, but there is something I wished to ask you."

"No, Tessa, it's fine," I lied, closing the piano lid before standing up and walking over to her, shutting the door behind us. "I was just trying to pass the time before dinner."

She frowned. "I did not recognize the song. Granted, I am not very well learned in music, but Jem has taught me the classics."

"Don't worry,"" I said quietly. "I didn't recognize the song either. What is it?"

Tessa tucked a curl behind her ear as she leaning forward, suddenly intent. "When we were searching for information about Mortmain earlier today, we found some information that linked him to the Starkweathers. He filed for recompense for the death of his mother at the York Institute. Since Aloysius is eighty-nine years old, he is likely to remember them personally."

"Is he?" I asked vaguely, but I thought I knew where this conversation was headed.

"Charlotte suggested that we travel to Yorkshire and discover more about the recompense. It is our only lead so far on Mortmain."

I frowned. "But I thought he hated the Fairchilds."

"That's why Charlotte is not going. She thinks that Will, Jem and I might have better luck persuading him to give us information. Perhaps I can take something of Aloysius's if nothing else works. I asked Charlotte if you could come along, and she agreed. Please, Abby? You have never been out of London, and I should not like to be the odd one out."

 _I should not like to deal with Will alone,_ was what she was really saying, but I already knew what my decision was going to be, even if only for the fact that I didn't want to be away from Jem. "Of course I'll go with you," I said. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," Tessa replied, and I could see the muted excitement in her eyes, as if she was now a heroine going on some exciting adventure. "We shall take the train and leave from King's Cross in the early morning. Charlotte says we need only stay overnight, as our welcome is likely to wear out very quickly."

I nodded slowly. "All right. That certainly sounds…reassuring." I was about to ask how long the train ride was when I caught another glimpse of the novel in her grasp. Up close, it looked like the same book I had seen Will holding at dinner several days ago— _Vathek,_ by William Beckford. "Getting caught up on your reading?" I asked slyly. "You know, I saw Will with it last weekend."

"I do not concern myself with his choice of pastimes," she said, too quickly to be entirely truthful, and surreptitiously hid it behind her back. But I had seen a short note on the first page written in what I was certain was Will's handwriting.

I ducked my head to hide my smile. It seemed that I wasn't the only one who had been in a good mood today.


	20. Twenty

**T** he rain that poured down onto London the following day was like nothing I'd ever seen before, not even in this city where the average weekly rainfall levels were higher than San Francisco's _yearly_ rainfall levels. But I had to admit that I had never seen anything quite like this before; I could barely see a foot in front of me as I scurried through the courtyard of the Institute into the carriage, Jem chivalrously holding an umbrella over us so I wouldn't ruin my dress. Not that I cared about it anyway; I would be quite happy to wear my fighting gear all day if I could.

His hand brushed mine as he helped me inside, and I felt that shiver of pleasure run all the way down to the tips of my toes again. I smiled at him and pulled him up behind me, soaking both of us in the process as the torrent of rain splashed inside when I shut the door. His silver eyes were bright and wide as I squeezed his hand, not wanting to let go of him. Neither of us had yet spoken a word about what had happened between us yesterday, but I was constantly thinking about it—in fact, I hadn't been able to fall asleep last night as I'd memorized the feel of his lips against mine and his hands running down my body—so I had been delighted at this brief opportunity to get him alone, since it seemed as if we would be constantly surrounded for the next twenty-four hours. Every day was an uncertainty for both me and him, as overdramatic as that sounded.

"I do believe that you have ruined the umbrella," Jem murmured, his eyes crinkling in amusement, and I reluctantly tore my gaze from him to my hand, where it had nearly been crushed in half by the door. I'd unceremoniously shoved it aside in my eagerness to get to him.

"Screw the umbrella," I said rashly, tossing it to the floor. Jem laughed softly at my strange phrase, but his eyes were on mine again as he reached up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear where it had come undone in my mad dash to the carriage. Rainwater was pouring off both of our clothes, and I could clearly see every pore in his face. I was struck with a sudden, intense rush of desire, and I leaned forward to close the distance between us, kissing him lightly and tasting the water against his mouth.

Jem gently pulled me closer to him, placing one hand on my waist so that I was flush against him. His lips sought mine with a pleasant tenderness—not exactly the intensity from the day before, but welcomed all the same. I wondered if I would ever get used to kissing him, or if I would ever become comfortable with this new Abby, who took chances with boys of her own accord and made out with them in bed.

After what seemed like barely a second, although it was most likely five or ten, he pulled away, his eyes focusing on the window streaked with rain. "Will and Tessa are nearly here," he explained in response to my baffled look, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb once before throwing open the door again. Tessa slipped in first, holding up her skirts and thanking Cyril, the Institute's new footman—who also happened to be Thomas's brother—as he helped her inside. I shared a friendly smile with her as she sat down beside me, and I felt a tiny measure of guilt for not telling her about my apprehension concerning Henry's Portal, Benedict Lightwood's visit, or, indeed, my passionate kiss with Jem. But then again, I had told her more about myself than I probably should have in my desperation to have a close confidante. Tessa was still guarded when it came to herself, and I often got the sense that she left out large parts when she told me about what had gone on between her and Will, or her feelings about Nate's betrayal. I couldn't blame her, though—she had gone through so much in the past few months, even more than I had, that it was understandable she wouldn't spill her heart out to a girl she had only known for several weeks. Nevertheless, she was the closest thing I'd ever had to a best friend, and I hoped that I would be able to continue my friendship with her when I got back to my own time.

Will bounded into the carriage a moment later, predictably sopping wet, and shouted an order at Cyril to take us to the train station. I couldn't help but notice that he was harsher with Cyril than he had been with Thomas, but it was partly understandable—according to Charlotte, he had been friends with Thomas before Jem had arrived at the Institute. Personally, I liked Cyril every bit as much as I had liked Thomas, appreciating their similarities. The new cook, Bridget, was another story. Her food was excellent, that much was certain, but I wasn't such an enormous fan of the songs she often sang, which usually ended in their subjects meeting tragic ends.

I briefly met Will's gaze as he sat down beside Jem, across from Tessa, and I could have sworn his eyes darkened. Will hadn't, of course, been too thrilled when he'd learned that I was also coming along to York, but then again nothing seemed to thrill him unless it went against most people's moral codes.

But then I caught Jem's eye, who had noticed the slight exchange between Will and I, and he rolled his eyes at his friend, shrugging slightly, before beaming brightly at me so that the memory of Will's cold stare was all but forgotten. I quickly turned to the window, pretending to be staring out at the rain, so the others couldn't see my grin.

* * *

Despite the atrocious weather, King's Cross was bustling with activity as we wove our way to the correct platform, Cyril following behind us with our luggage. I hadn't packed anything aside from my nightclothes and another dress for tomorrow—I hadn't even brought Dad's journal or my purse along, which really said a lot about how I trusted those at the Institute.

"Hurry up, you lot! The train won't wait all day," a harried-looking porter called as he grabbed our suitcases from Cyril, throwing them none too gently inside the train. I winced as I saw the latch on mine come undone as it smashed into the opposite wall.

"It will wait for _us,_ " Will said, a devilish smirk on his face, before disappearing inside. Tessa and I bid goodbye to Cyril before Jem helped us both onto the train, his hand lingering on my arm longer than the bounds of propriety suggested. I smiled at him, giving his fingers a slight squeeze as I followed Tessa into the compartment where Will was already seated.

A deafening whistle blew just after I'd gotten comfortable, sitting across from Jem. Tessa and Will both had the window seats, and I could see a cloud of smoke beginning to envelop the platform as the train slowly pulled out of the station, gathering speed as it did. I'd never been on a train before, but the mere fact that this mode of transportation was recognizable to me even a century later gave me a sense, false though it was, that I was closer to home.

"Did you bring anything to read on the journey?" Will asked Tessa after a few minutes of silence. We were fast leaving London behind, the buildings and streets giving way to fields and farms.

Tessa set her chin, her grey eyes betraying nothing. "No. I haven't come across anything I particularly wanted to read lately." Even I could see Will's jaw clench at her words, and he turned back to the window, apparently biting his tongue.

Undeterred by his snappishness, Tessa continued, "There is always something so exciting about the start of a journey, don't you think?"

"No," he said sullenly, and pulled his hat down over his eyes so that just the bottom half of his face was visible.

"Haven't you ever been to the countryside before?" Jem asked her, playing peacemaker as usual.

Tessa shook her head, and began to explain about how she'd only ever been to Coney Island, wherever that was. I rested my head against the door of the compartment and watched the blurred figures moving to and fro in the corridor beyond, feeling the rattle of the train under us. I let their voices turn into one indistinguishable murmur, hoping that I would be able to get to sleep that night. It was hard to fully relax when my mind had kept darting to Jem and the sensation of his body over mine.

I broke off that thought pattern as soon as it began—I certainly did not want to have some torrid fantasy about him when Will and Tessa were both feet from us. Sometimes I had the unnerving feeling that Will could tell what I was thinking, although I knew logically it was impossible.

Trying and failing to push Jem out of my mind, I turned back to Tessa, who was now asking Will, "Do you miss Wales?"

He shrugged. "What's to miss? Sheep and singing. And the ridiculous language." And then he proceeded to speak in a language so convoluted that I wondered if he was making fun of her and it was just gobbledygook. I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.

" _That's_ Welsh?" I asked, unable to help myself. "By the Angel, I had no idea it sounded so outrageous when part of my family is from there!"

Will turned his bright gaze on me, masking the curiosity in his expression. "Who were they?" he asked. "Were they Nephilim?"

" _I_ don't know," I said crossly. "They were on my dad's side, so I guess so. Do you expect me to have memorized my entire family tree?"

But Will continued on as if he hadn't heard me, saying something about how he had the dragon of Wales tattooed somewhere on his body, which conjured up many mental pictures I could have done without. I couldn't have been more relieved when Jem interrupted, "You're in a _charming_ temper, aren't you, William? Remember, Starkweather can't stand Charlotte, so if this is the mood you're in—"

"I promise to charm the dickens out of him," Will replied. "I shall charm him with such force that when I am done, he will be left lying limply on the ground, trying to remember his own name."

"The man's eighty-nine," Jem muttered. "He may well have that problem anyway."

I snorted, my eyes meeting Jem's for the first time since we'd gotten onto the train. He looked gratified and hesitantly grinned back. Then, as if remembering ourselves, we both looked away at once, though our smiles still remained.

"Perhaps we should discuss strategy," Jem said loudly, interrupting whatever argument Tessa and Will had been about to launch into. "Starkweather hates Charlotte but knows that she sent us. So how to worm our way into his good graces?"

"Tessa can utilize her feminine wiles," Will said immediately. "Charlotte said he enjoys a pretty face."

"What about me?" I asked.

Will gave me a bored once-over. "You know, Abby, it was not a mistake that I only included Tessa in that sentence," he drawled.

"Will!" Jem exclaimed, and for once I saw something that looked like true anger in his eyes. "You must stop this behavior. Abby has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment from you."

Will glanced over at Jem _,_ and a silent look passed between them. Surprisingly, Will was the one to turn away first. "I apologize, Jem," he finally said, but it was impossible to tell how sincere he was. "I did not mean to disrespect her. As your _parabatai,_ it is my duty to protect her as well."

"Wait," said Tessa; she was looking intently back and forth between Jem and I. "Do you mean to say that you have entered into a courtship?"

"Yes, if it a courtship is what I think it means," I replied, unable to hide my smile at her astonished look.

"Then I truly wish you two the best," she said, now looking directly at me. I could feel her silent reproach toward me for not telling her beforehand. I shot her a conspiratorial glance that clearly said I would explain later, which seemed to mollify her somewhat.

I expected Will to make a snide remark about me having to go back to 1978, but he stayed quiet, his eyes on Tessa. An uncomfortable silence descended over the compartment, and I was relieved when Jem broke the tense atmosphere. "How are Abby and Tessa expected to explain their presence?"

"We can't say I'm a Shadowhunter; he'll know immediately that I'm not. No Marks," objected Tessa.

"And no warlock mark," Jem mused. "He'll think she's a mundane. She could Change, but…"

"Perhaps we could say she's a mad maiden aunt who insists on chaperoning us everywhere." Will looked quite pleased with this idea.

But Jem didn't seem so convinced. "My aunt or yours?"

"Yes, she doesn't really look like either of us, does she?" Sighing, Will lifted up the brim of his hat and gazed at Tessa, his eyes raking over her form with an intensity that somehow didn't cross the line into lecherousness. "Perhaps she's a girl who's fallen madly in love with me and persists in following me wherever I go."

"My talent is shape-shifting, Will, not acting," she replied dryly, to which both Jem and I laughed again.

"She had the better of you there, Will. It does happen sometimes, doesn't it?" Jem shook his head, still chuckling. "Perhaps I should introduce Tessa as my fiancée. We can tell mad old Aloysius that her Ascension is underway."

My throat tightened, my smile disappearing, and I tried unsuccessfully to stifle my jealousy. "Ascension?" Tessa asked.

"When a Shadowhunter wishes to marry a mundane—"

"But I thought that was forbidden?"

"It is," Jem said slowly, and I saw him throw half a glance at me. " _Unless_ the Mortal Cup is used to turn that mundane into a Shadowhunter. It is not a common result, but it does happen. If the Shadowhunter in question applies to the Clave for an Ascension for their partner, the Clave is required to consider it for at least three months. Meanwhile, the mundane embarks on a course of study to learn about Shadowhunter culture—"

"It's not a bad idea, I suppose," Tessa said dubiously. "I do know rather a lot; I've finished nearly all of the _Codex._ "

"It would seem reasonable that I brought you with me. As a possible Ascender, you might want to learn about Institutes other than the one in London. What do you think?" Jem turned to Will, while I stared at the floor, my jaw as tight as Will's had been earlier. _It doesn't mean anything,_ I tried to tell myself, but even the voice in the back of my mind was unsure.

"It seems as fine an idea as any," Will answered, who did not seem to care either way. Or perhaps he was just better at hiding envy than I was.

Jem turned to me. "And Abby can be Tessa's Nephilim cousin, sent here as our chaperone." He grinned crookedly. "They do bear more than a passing resemblance if one looks for it."

With that settled, they turned to discussing the matter at hand. It had stopped raining, but even the sight of blue sky didn't lift my mood. I was still boiling with jealousy at seeing the Carstairs ring on Tessa's hand, and filled with a sense of melancholy when they had been talking about mundanes marrying Shadowhunters. I still didn't know why my mother had been rejected from the Clave, but now I found I detested them even more after learning that most mundanes who applied _were_ accepted.

"Do you know if there are any more Starkweathers left after Aloysius, Will?" Jem was asking his _parabatai._ "If there aren't, I daresay that shall be the last of the family line."

"Does that happen often?" Tessa asked curiously.

Will nodded, speaking up for once. "Yes, many Shadowhunter families have died out due to battles or even producing all female children. For instance, there shall not be any Herondales after me."

"There are still Herondales in my time," I answered. "Marcus Herondale was my father's _parabatai._ "

Will looked sharply at me. "That is not possible."

"Why not?"

But he didn't answer, leaving me to puzzle over why he was so insistent about it.

Their conversation turned to the concept of _parabatai_ soon after that, with Tessa initiating all of the questions. Raziel, she must have been absolutely unbearable as a child. Where I often stayed quiet, her curiosity knew no bounds.

My ears perked up when I heard Jem say, "Well, Will won't need to create a new religion just to be rid of me. He'll be free soon enough."

Both Will and I made to speak up, but Tessa had already exclaimed, "Don't say that. A cure could still be found. I don't see any reason to abandon all hope."

"I haven't abandoned hope," Jem said firmly, but I saw that his eyes were resting on me. "I just hope for different things than you do, Tessa Gray."

* * *

I hadn't realized that the journey would take so long; at least five hours must have passed before I heard the squeal of the train's brakes. I blearily opened my eyes from where I'd fallen asleep against the wall, my neck aching from the uncomfortable position, and saw that Tessa was shaking herself awake as well. Will and Jem were both already standing, Will sliding open the compartment door, and I stuck close to Jem as we leapt off the train and into York station, which was surprisingly much grander and more ostentatious than King's Cross. The roof above us was made almost entirely of glass, and I watched a duck-shaped cloud gently drift by as we waited for our luggage to arrive.

Just after Tessa had retrieved her suitcase, an elderly but spry man loomed up out of nowhere, startling me. He had a cane like Jem's, but his was markedly older and thicker. "Nephilim?" he asked in a hoarse voice, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Is it you?"

"Dear God," Will gasped theatrically. "It's the Ancient Mariner who stoppeth one of thee."

"Ah'm 'ere at t'bequest of Aloysius Starkweather," the man rasped. "Art t'lads he wants or not? Ah've not got all night to stand about."

Will was noticeably amused. "Important appointment with an albatross? Don't let us keep you."

Tessa laughed. "Huh?" I asked blankly.

Jem noticed my confusion and smiled. "Sometimes it's best not to ask." He continued in a louder voice, "What my mad friend means to say is that we are indeed Shadowhunters of the London Institute. Charlotte Branwell sent us. And you are…?"

"Gottshall. Me family's been serving the Shadowhunters of the York Institute for nigh on three centuries now. I can see through tha' glamours, young ones. Save for this one. If there's a glamour on the girl, it's summat I've never seen before." Gottshall squinted at Tessa, who fidgeted uncomfortably as Jem took her hand and I tore my gaze away from them.

"She's a mundane—an Ascendant," Jem lied. "Soon to be my wife. And this is her cousin, a Shadowhunter and our chaperone. We met through her. The Council thought it would be beneficial for Miss Gray to see another Institute besides London's."

Gottshall didn't look convinced. "Has Mr Starkweather been told aught about this?"

"It depends what Mrs Branwell told him."

He raised his bushy eyebrows. "Well, I hope she told him something, for yer sakes. If there's a man in t'world who hates surprises more than Aloysius Starkweather, Ah've yet to meet the bast—beggar. Begging your pardon, miss." I wasn't sure whether his words were directed at me or Tessa, but we both mumbled something about accepting his apology. I found myself staring at Will, who was striding away from us, so as not to see Jem and Tessa's intertwined hands.

* * *

The carriage ride to the York Institute was long and uncomfortable. While Jem and Tessa laughed quietly to each other and pretended to be lost in their own little world under Gottshall's watchful eyes, both Will and I sat resentfully, our expressions for once mirrored on each other's faces.

"I take it you two are tying t'knot as well?" Gottshall asked. Startled, I glanced up at Will, where we both instantly denied it.

"No, we're not—"

"—Would never dream of it—"

"Ah, I see," Gottshall said, and winked at both of us. "No need to keep secrets, eh? Damned if my prediction don't come true!"

Now Tessa and Jem were both staring at us. I slowly slid down in my seat, refusing to look at anyone and watching the York Institute slowly roll into view. It wasn't as grand as the London Institute, but its spires and turrets were more elaborate, its painted-glass windows sparkling in the weak sunlight.

This time it was my turn to hop down from the carriage at once, feeling the wind blow my dress around wildly as we made our way up the path to the front doors. We'd left the town behind us, and now we were surrounded by moors, the wild landscape a pleasant breath of fresh air—literally—from the claustrophobic, stifling atmosphere of London.

The front door swung open even before Jem had raised his hand to knock. A withered man stared back at us, a man even older than Gottshall. Aloysius was ancient, but he still carried himself proudly, a spark that wasn't entirely friendly in his black eyes. He spoke to Will first: "Young Herondale, are you? Half-mundane, half-Welsh, and the worst traits of both, I've heard."

" _Diolch,"_ Will said, and Aloysius made a displeased noise in the back of his throat.

"Mongrel tongue. James Carstairs. Another Institute brat. I've half a mind to tell the lot of you to go to blazes. That upstart bit of a girl, that Charlotte Fairchild, foisting you all on me with nary a by-your-leave. None of that family ever had a bit o'manners. I could do without her father, and I can do without—" But his eyes had landed on Tessa, and astonishment crossed his features, like he had seen a ghost.

"This is Tessa Gray, sir," Will introduced before he could recover. "She is a mundane girl, but she is the bethrothed of Carstairs, here, and an Ascendant. The blonde one is Abigail Cartwright, her Nephilim cousin who is also from America."

"A _mundane,_ you say?" Aloysius's eyes were still wide.

"An Ascendant," Will clarified. "She has been a faithful friend to the Institute in London, and we hope to welcome her into our ranks soon."

"A mundane. " Aloysius was still clearly shocked. "Well, times have—Yes, I suppose then—Get Cedric and Andrew to help you bring our guests' belongings up to their rooms. And do tell Ellen to instruct Cook to set four extra places for dinner tonight. I may have forgotten to remind her that we would have guests."

Gottshall laughed under his breath. Aloysius gave him a stark glare before moving back into the Institute. "Well, come along. You needn't stand there. Follow me and I'll show you to your rooms."

"Would the pair of you like a room together?" Gottshall asked, gesturing to Will's and my suitcases. His eyes were alive with wicked amusement.

Aloysius turned back, frowning at us. "You two are also betrothed?"

"We aren't engaged!" Will and I shouted in unison. But neither man seemed to hear us, and we stomped into the Institute, both fuming. I could have sworn I saw Jem's lips twitch.

* * *

"By the Angel, what _is_ this stuff?" Will held up his fork, staring with disgust at the muck he'd scooped up on his plate. I had to agree with him; the food didn't look appetizing whatsoever. Then again, it fit perfectly with the gloomy, dank atmosphere of the York Institute. My bedroom here was at least half the size it was in London, and I hadn't seen any torches on the walls on my way downstairs, meaning that at night the building would be pitch-black. It wasn't, I thought, a very welcoming place. I could see why Aloysius had no need for guests.

"What _is_ this?" Will continued, unable, it seemed, to even take a bite. I put my fork down as well, my appetite having suddenly disappeared. "This…this… _thing?_ "

"A parsnip?" Jem said mildly.

"A parsnip planted in Satan's own garden. I don't suppose there's a dog I could feed it to." Will looked around the dining-room with an almost hopeful expression.

"There don't seem to be any pets about." So far, Jem was the only one who appeared to be able to eat the food. Tessa and I had both just rearranged the contents of our plates with the cutlery.

"Probably all poisoned by parsnips," Will said darkly.

"Oh, dear," Tessa remarked, sounding sad. "And I was so hungry too."

"There's always the dinner rolls. Though I warn you, they're hard as stones. You could use them to kill black beetles, if any beetles bother you in the middle of the night." Clearing his throat, Will announced,

" _There once was a lass from New York,_  
_Who found herself hungry in York._  
_But the bread was like rocks,_  
_The parsnips shaped like—"_

"You can't rhyme 'York' with 'York'. It's cheating," Tessa interrupted, while I laughed.

"She's right, you know," Jem observed. "Especially with 'fork' being so obviously the correct choice—" But he trailed off as the door opened and Aloysius stomped in, a brown envelope clutched in one hand. I sighed in relief; hopefully this meant that our visit wouldn't be completely in vain.

"Good evening," Aloysius grumbled, taking a seat across from Tessa. "Mr Herondale, Mr Carstairs, Miss Cartwright, Miss—"

"Gray," she answered. "Theresa Gray."

"Indeed." Aloysius had just opened the envelope and was about to read its contents when a movement from the window across the way caught my attention, and my fork clattered to the table when I saw, with a thrill of horror, the enormous black spider that still haunted my dreams almost every night. I blinked several times to make sure I wasn't seeing things, but every time I opened my eyes it was still there, stark against the windowpane.

And then it was gone.

I stood up so fast that my chair hit the back of the wall. "I'm not feeling very well," I said—it was true. My stomach was churning, and I was grateful I hadn't eaten more. "I think I'll go to bed early tonight."

Before anyone could speak, I dashed out of the room, nearly flying up the staircase and down the corridor to my bedroom, where I locked my door and began to pace around the floor, my mind racing. Should I tell the others I had seen the spider? Was I just being paranoid? I knew that Jem couldn't come after me, since he was supposed to be playing the part of Tessa's fiancé. I was alone now, for better or for worse.

God, Mortmain must have created more clockwork spiders and was sending them after me. What on earth was I supposed to do? I felt for the handle of my seraph blade, but it was hardly reassuring. There could be an infinite amount of spiders just waiting to track me down.

I must have been pacing in endless circles for at least another hour before I heard footsteps across the corridor and I froze as the door across from mine closed with a loud click. I wasn't sure whose bedroom it was, but I guessed that Jem might have retired early—he had been looking unsteady at dinner. And I didn't want to stay in my room alone for another moment.

I quickly changed into my nightclothes before pulling on my dressing-gown and slipping across the hallway. The door was slightly ajar, and I peered inside, wishing I had brought my witchlight. Just as I was about to call out, I inhaled and could smell the spicy, slightly bitter scent of _yin fen_ in the back of my throat. So this was Jem, then.

He was sprawled out on the bed in an unusual position, his breathing louder than I would have expected. I crept toward him—his silvery hair wasn't even visible in the dark room.

"Jem," I whispered. "Jem—"

I sensed him beginning to stir, and a warm hand reached out for me, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me down to him. It was too late before I realized that this wasn't Jem at all—it was _Will_ , and I'd barely let out a squeak of surprise before he was kissing me roughly, whispering the word "Tess" against my lips.

Of course, it didn't take him long to realize that I _wasn't_ Tessa, and he shoved me away, his hand wildly scrabbling for the witchlight to illuminate his face, strained and pale and looking far younger than he usually did. "By the Angel, _Abby,"_ he groaned, and muttered something else in Welsh that I was sure was a stream of curses.

"I thought you were _Jem!"_ I snapped at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve. "I smelled the _yin fen_ in here."

"I always bring an extra supply with me in case he runs out," Will grumbled. Now he was on the defensive, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and glaring daggers at me. "Listen, you are not to tell anybody else about this, do you hear?"

"Who would I tell?" I asked, my temper flaring up in extreme annoyance. "It was an accident, anyway—"

He glowered at me for another moment before standing up and grudgingly saying, "Why did you run out at dinner, anyway?"

Still shaking with embarrassment and leftover anxiety, I hissed, "To get away from _you_ ," and flounced out of the room.

But just before I shut the door behind me I heard him say, very softly, "It is better for you if we are not friends, Abby."

I was mystified, to say the least. Surely he could have been cruel if he wanted. Instead, his voice was quiet, almost gloomy. Why was he making an effort to be kind about it?

Now I was left standing alone in the corridor. The door next to mine was shut, the room dark, but the one next to Will's was still half-open, and I saw the back of Jem's hair as he paced, mimicking my own pastime that evening. His expression was cast downward but worried and intent.

As I watched him, I noticed that spots were beginning to form in front of my eyes and I felt suddenly unsteady on my feet. Gasping for air, I slumped down to the floor, my hands braced against the cold ground as I struggled to breathe. Was I dying? I couldn't form a proper thought.

"Abby!" Jem exclaimed from the doorway, and hurried toward me, gently grabbing my shoulders and pulling me to my feet. His touch was light and gentle, the opposite of Will's, and my face flushed with humiliation at the mistake I'd made. Will's door was closed now, and I prayed he wouldn't come out to see what all the commotion was.

"I can't sleep by myself with that…that _thing_ out there somewhere." My arms were wrapped around myself and I was shaking uncontrollably. Jem looked concerned, gently ushering me into the room before closing the door behind us.

In a halting voice, I explained why I had left dinner so early that evening and my subsequent dread that the spider had found me again. "I'm sorry, Jem," I hiccupped, perching on the edge of his bed and staring at a spot on the opposite wall, wishing I would stop shivering. "If someone comes in now—you and Tessa are supposed to be engaged—"

"And it is just that. An act," he said firmly, but his brow had furrowed slightly. "You do realize that, don't you? Tessa and I do not harbour any such feelings for each other any more than you and Will do."

I thought about my mistaking Will for Jem and the harshness of his mouth on mine when he'd thought I was Tessa, however brief it had been, and I whimpered as guilt stabbed through my stomach like a knife. "Y—yes," I stuttered, unable to tell him what had really happened. I despised myself. I was nothing but a coward. How could I have even thought that I was a proper Shadowhunter?

"You just had a panic attack," he soothed, kissing my temple and stroking my jaw. "But you're fine. Will and I won't let any harm come to you, Abby. Do you understand that? I will do everything in my power to make sure you are safe." His arms tightened around me, and I sniffled, hating the way that tears were still leaking out from under my closed eyelids and I couldn't seem to get warm. I thought compulsively again of the spider, its pincers clacking malevolently as it had stared inside the room at me, and I pressed myself even closer to him, drawing in his scent and using his heartbeat to steady my breathing. "Is this too close?" I whispered when I felt him shudder.

But Jem shook his head, slowly laying his head on the pillow next to me and his own arms enfolding themselves around my back. "It is not…" he began, and then broke off, making a soft choking noise as if reprimanding himself for misspeaking.

I opened one eye, staring up at the half of his face I could see. The fire was still burning in the grate, enveloping the room with a pleasant warmth that made me think of winter and snow and Christmas—not that I'd ever gotten to experience one living in California. "It's not what?" I whispered.

Now it was Jem's tone to close his eyes—he couldn't lie to me, just as I couldn't lie to him—and murmured, "Not close enough."

I had to look away from him, using every ounce of my self-control not to cover his lips with my own and show him just _how_ close we could get.

I wanted him so badly. Even if it was just to know once and for all that we completely belonged to each other, and some tiny shard of his heart didn't beat Tessa's name. I wanted to explore every part of him and kiss every scar that mapped his skin, but not here. Not here, in a strange bed in a strange house, and not when I was still recovering from a panic attack. "Soon," I whispered, and I could hear his breathing come quicker, his heart rate speeding up along with it.

He was humming under his breath, perhaps to distract himself from thinking about what we had been so close to doing, and I recognized it as a song he'd once played on his violin, although I wasn't entirely sure of the name. I was about to ask, but I could feel myself relaxing, my muscles unclenching one by one, and I didn't want to break the silence.

 _I love you,_ was my last conscious thought before sleep overtook me, and by that point I was too exhausted to even consider the ramifications of what that meant. From then on my mind finally accepted the fact that I had somehow known all along: I was in love with Jem Carstairs, and I would be forever.


	21. Twenty-One

**I** awoke the following morning to a foreign, although not entirely disagreeable, sensation of warmth and security. I hadn't felt this comfortable in years, not since I was a little girl and had crept into Mom's bed during the night. But the body currently pressed against mine was definitely _not_ that of my mother's, although Jem did give me the same sense of calmness and safety—as well as certain other, _very_ different feelings…

I opened my eyes and slowly raised my head, blinking owlishly at the light that poured in through the curtains. The sky was a bright, otherworldly blue, and the sight alone was enough to raise my spirits. Although I remembered the events of the previous evening all too clearly—the spider, my accidental kiss with Will, and the ensuing panic attack—I didn't feel overwhelmed by any of it, as if they were merely facts rather than memories.

Jem stirred next to me, and I smiled, brushing silvery hair out of his face as he opened his eyes, a flicker of confusion crossing his features before realization dawned on him. "Abby," he said, his voice croaky and hoarse from sleep, "I thought…I thought you would leave."

"Of course not," I replied. "I told you that I would never leave you."

Although we were both still fully clothed, we had been sleeping very close together, our bodies just touching despite the large bed. "I have not slept so well in months," Jem confided to me, but there were still dark rings around his eyes, marks that would never completely disappear no matter how much sleep he got.

I had to admit that I hadn't slept so well in a very long time either, despite my ever-growing dread and the realization that I was in love with him. In fact, I couldn't remember dreaming at all. "Jem," I said hesitantly as we sat up, the loss of his light touch almost a physical ache, "I hope that… _this…_ " I gestured awkwardly between the two of us, "…isn't too…improper. It's one thing for me, being from a century in the future where social norms are different, but for you…"

"Abby, I realize this is not a very gentlemanly or even proper thing to say, but social norms are not high on the list of my priorities at the moment," Jem said firmly. "Yes, it is strange for someone such as myself to share a bed with a girl behind closed doors, but I daresay that stranger things are occurring all across the world at this very moment. Besides, we are Shadowhunters, with a different set of rules than mundanes, and most importantly, you are not just any girl."

His words did little to reassure me—he hadn't grasped what I was really talking about. "Well, I just wanted to say that I—I meant what I said, before. I do…" Closing my eyes tightly, I dove in and took the plunge. "I want you, Jem, and I mean that in every sense of the word. I don't know how much time I have left. Someday I'll be gone, and I'll regret never having the courage to…" Giggling nervously, I babbled, "I know I already said this, but when I said 'Soon', I meant it."

"Ah," Jem said quietly, and I ventured to crack open one eye. His own eyes were soft, full of something that just might have been desire. "I did not broach the topic before, Abby, since I did not want you to feel pressured, but please believe me when I say that you have echoed my thoughts exactly. I…" His voice cracked, and now it was his turn to clear his throat. "Want you too. I never believed that I would fall in love and find someone who would care for me in such a way back, so please forgive me if I…overstep the bounds of propriety. It was never my intention."

"Love," I breathed—there was that indescribable word, finally uttered out loud. "I love you, James Carstairs," I said, because I knew it was true and therefore I had every right to say it.

"Thank God," Jem murmured, and his hand moved up to cup my chin, tilting my head toward him. "I have loved you ever since you arrived at the Institute, _àirén._ The moment I first saw you, covered in blood and wearing the oddest outfit I had ever seen, I knew, instinctively, that you were going to be an integral part of my life. And then when Will asked you what you were wearing and you replied 'clothes' without a hint of sarcasm, with that puzzled and lost look in your eyes, I knew I could fall in love with you. When you told me, 'I would rather read music than books', I knew I _would_ fall in love with you. And when I asked you why you hadn't questioned me about Will and you replied that it was none of your business as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, despite the fact that you had _every right to_ , I knew I had fallen in love with you. Will is my _parabatai,_ my soul, but you are my heart. If I knew I only had one day left to live, there is no one I would rather spend it with than you."

I couldn't speak, and Jem dropped his hand from my chin to my wrist, pressing it against his chest where I could feel his heart beating steadily under my palm. "I am wholly _yours_. Every part of me belongs to you."

Relief flooded through me. "I don't think you need to worry about the bounds of propriety with me," I whispered, unable to say anything else, and suddenly we were kissing, Jem's mouth hot against mine and my hands running through his rumpled hair, and my heart swelled at the way he could literally erase all the problems from my mind—

But he could not erase problems from the outside world, and we reluctantly pulled apart when there was a sharp knock at the door and Will's voice called, "Are you awake, James?"

Startled, I tried to stand up, but Jem, lips twitching, held me still as a moment later the door swung open and Will stood silhouetted in the light shining in from the corridor. He took one look at us and his eyebrows shot up. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed in mock horror. "I would never have expected this sort of behaviour from you two! And here I was thinking you were purer than driven snow—"

"Oh, do be quiet, Will," Jem said good-naturedly, pulling me upright. I was pleased to see that there was, for once, no ire in Will's eyes directed towards me. He seemed to have finally accepted Jem's and my relationship, for better or for worse. "Abby and I were just about to head downstairs to breakfast."

"Is _that_ what they're calling it now?" Will asked, though his eyes with glittering with heady amusement. "A rather vague euphemism, I would say, but—"

Jem gave me a gentle nudge, signaling that it was time for me to make my escape, and after a grateful grin at him I scurried past Will out of the room and across the corridor to my own, where I quickly shut the door behind me and leaned against it, suddenly grim. How was I supposed to explain the matter of the spider to Will and Tessa? They surely had enough on their plates without another thing to investigate. And I didn't want Jem to always act as peacemaker between Will and I, even if he was used to it.

God, Jem was _in love_ with me. In love! I had spent sixteen years thinking that I was too ugly, too weird, too boring, for anyone to ever take a romantic interest in me. And now, my life had been so utterly, completely changed, that really it shouldn't be at all surprising that I was now in some strange alternate universe where a boy could fall in love with me.

I finally pushed myself off the door and walked across the room to my suitcase, where I was dismayed to discover that the dress I had packed at random was one of my most intricate ones, with laces that even Sophie would have a difficult time tying up. No wonder it had been stuffed into the very back of my wardrobe. There was no way I would be able to put it on myself. I supposed I could wear my dress from yesterday, but it was wrinkled from spending the entire day on the train, and there was still a tea stain on it from when I'd jumped up from the dinner table.

I glanced around the room for a bell to summon one of Starkweather's maids, but after I saw none and certainly didn't want to go trudging around the manor in a dressing-gown looking for them, I sighed and slung the dress over my arm before quietly slipping out of my room and down the corridor to Tessa's bedroom, knocking twice and hoping she was awake.

Tessa opened the door a moment later, her hair still undone and in her dressing-gown herself. I noticed that the circles under her eyes looked just as bad as Jem's and she was much paler than usual. "Hi, Tess," I greeted her as she ushered me inside. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," was her first answer, but after a dubious look from me she relented, "I did have terrible nightmares, but they do seem rather silly in the morning. I suppose it was just my imagination…but what about you, Abby? You ran upstairs quite quickly last night."

I nodded, unable to keep anything else from her. "I saw the spider again last night," I confided. "On the window in the dining-room. I'm sure that…that Mortmain has created more and sent them after me. Tessa, I…on the night that the automatons attacked the Institute and Nate was trying to escape, he told me that _he_ had been the ones who sent the spiders after me."

Tessa had gone very still, her large eyes fixed on me. "He did?" she asked. "Why on earth would he do that?"

"I have no idea," I admitted. "But it's been bothering me since then. Listen, I saw him in the Pandemonium Club, the day before you came to the Institute. He was lying to you—to everyone. He wasn't captured by Mortmain. He was at the Pandemonium Club, on Mortmain's orders, I suspect."

For a moment, I wondered if Tessa was going to cry; her eyes turned glassy, and her shoulders slumped as if all the air had gone out of her. Just as I was about to put a hand on her shoulder, she composed herself, meeting my gaze again with a strong fierceness. "I should not be shocked," she said, a hard edge to her tone. "He has betrayed us— _me_ —so many times that I should have been expecting him to lie. But—"

"He's your brother," I said gently, and this time I really did hug her, in a gesture that wasn't nearly as awkward as I feared. "You have every right to be upset."

"I should not be thinking of him, Abby," Tessa said in a small voice. "He has taken his side, and I mine. If I could cut off all ties with him…" But she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, and we both knew she was lying.

Still, it had been a relief to unburden at least one of my problems. I stepped back from her and gestured to my dress, hoping it would lighten the atmosphere. "Would you mind acting in the role of Sophie for me?" I asked, as lightheartedly as I could. "There's no way I could tie up the laces on my dress myself, and I'm still getting used to the fashion in this era…"

Tessa, kind as she was, complied, and as she was fastening up the back of my dress I ventured to tell her about Benedict Lightwood's visit just days before, and his suspicions that he saw right through Charlotte's lies as well as mine.

"You must tell Charlotte," Tessa said at once, stepping back and looking intently at me.

"I know, but she already has so much to deal with," I groaned. "I don't want to burden her with anything else…"

"But this concerns her as well as you," Tessa pointed out. "She should be able to think of some way to deter him."

I swallowed hard, unable to take a calming breath since I was now encased tightly in a corset. "Yes," I said quietly, wondering if he'd sent Gabriel and Gideon as spies as sorts under the guise of training Sophie and Tessa. "I suppose you're right."

As it turned out, I was able to help Tessa with her dress too, although I wasn't nearly as adept at tying laces as she was. Trying to distract her from my agonizingly slow work—I'd been in Girl Scouts but had never managed to master knots—I asked, "Did you learn anything from Starkweather last night?"

Tessa paled, and I immediately regretted my question. "Yes," she said after a long moment. "He told us that Mortmain lived in a place called Ravenscar Manor, not too far from here. We are going to explore it today and search for anything he might have left behind."

"Do I get to come along?" I half-teased. "Or am I stuck in here all day with only old Starkweather to keep me company?"

There was no hint of humour at all in Tessa's eyes as she replied, "If you did not wish to go, I would have found some way to bring you along."

* * *

Despite the beautiful day, the mood in the dining-hall was very somber indeed when Tessa and I entered. Will appeared to have reverted to his usual black disposition, staring daggers at his toast while Jem tried to lighten the atmosphere. He greeted both of us warmly, though Tessa had to sit next to him if she wanted to keep up with their engagement pretense. His eyes kept darting over to me, though, and I thought I detected a hint of extra warmth in his smile.

Starkweather swept in just as I was finishing my toast, looking as disagreeable as ever. "The carriage is waiting for you in the courtyard," he said gruffly. "You'd better cut a stick if you want to get back before dinnertime; I'll be needing the carriage this evening. I've told Gottshall to drop you straight at the station on your return, no need for lingering. I trust you've gotten everything you need."

"Yes, sir. You've been very gracious," Jem replied quickly. Starkweather gave Tessa one last glare before sweeping out of the room like an oversized vampire.

As soon as he was gone, Will raised his head; as usual, he only had eyes for one person. "Eat quickly, Tessa, before he changes his mind about the carriage."

"I'm not hungry," Tessa mumbled, avoiding his gaze. I stared between both of them curiously; had something happened that I didn't know about?

"At least have tea," he said, in almost a friendly way, and pushed his own cup towards her. I waited for her to refuse, but after a moment she reached over and took it, still not looking at him. Jem and I glanced at each other, and shared a knowing look.

* * *

To everyone's great relief, we left the York Institute soon after breakfast, and in no time at all we were seated in the carriage with Gottshall as our driver, riding through wild, untamed countryside. The grass was a brighter green than I had ever seen it, waving gently in the breeze, and sheep dotted the fields—a perfect depiction of England. I cast my gaze out to the horizon, wanting to drink in as much of the scenery as possible before I was stuck in dark, rainy London again.

When the outline of another manor rose in the distance, Jem called for Gottshall to stop, and the carriage immediately ground to a halt. Tessa, as usual, asked the question that was foremost on my mind: "But we're not there yet. If that's Ravenscar Manor—"

"We can't just roll right up to the front door; be sensible, Tess," Will said lightly as he jumped out of the carriage and helped her down, with Jem and I following suit. I was more than pleased that no mention had been made of our unintentional kiss. Perhaps Will was trying to forget about it just as much as I was. "We need to get a look at the place. Use Henry's device to register demonic presence. Make sure we're not walking into a trap."

"Does Henry's device actually _work?"_ Tessa asked cautiously.

Nobody had a proper answer, so we all lapsed into silence as we started down the road. It was quiet here, so quiet that I could feel the weight of silence literally pressing onto my ears. I'd gotten the same isolated feeling whenever I'd been in the Californian desert; it made me shudder and reminded me of the motel, which had felt similarly removed from the rest of the world.

I felt Jem's fingers brush the back of my hand, as light as a butterfly. "City lasses," he teased, and with a laugh I realized that Tessa and I were wearing identical expressions.

"I _was_ thinking how odd it would be to grow up in a place like this, so far from any people," she remarked.

"Where I grew up was not so different from this," Will added, startling everyone. "It's not so lonely as you might think. Out in the countryside, you can be assured, people visit one another a great deal. They just have a greater distance to traverse than they might in London. And once they arrive, they often make a lengthy stay. After all, why make the trip just to stay a night or two? We'd often have house guests who'd remain for weeks."

Jem, Tessa and I all exchanged bewildered glances; this kind of divulgence was unusual for him. Thinking on his feet as usual, Jem broke the sudden hush. "I share Tessa's view. I have never lived in anything but a city. I don't know how I could sleep at night, not knowing I was surrounded by a thousand other sleeping, dreaming souls."

"And filth everywhere, and everyone breathing down each other's necks," retorted Will. "When I first arrived in London, I so quickly tired of being surrounded by so many people that it was only with great difficulty that I refrained from seizing the next unfortunate who crossed my path and committing violent acts upon their person."

"Some might say you retain that problem," Tessa said dryly.

"I think I'm going to go with the majority here," I interjected as Will, shockingly, _laughed_. "Maybe it's just because I was born in a large city, but it's too…quiet here. I'm used to noise."

"There's noise for you," Will replied shortly as the rattling of wheels became audible. Jem grabbed my arm and pulled me down in the long grass, where an enormous manor house, twice the size of the York Institute and every bit as grand, came into view.

" _Someone's_ living here," Jem muttered as the carriage clattered past our hiding place. "Perhaps if—"

But he never got to finish his sentence, for it stopped at the base of a hill and a young girl hopped out. She was wearing a dark blue dress, a color that I would later realize was the precise shade of Will's eyes, and her black hair blew around her in the wind.

Next to Tessa, Will made a choking, gasping sound, and as we all turned to look at him he breathed out, _"Cecily."_

"Who on earth is Cecily?" Tessa asked at once, long after the girl had disappeared into the manor. "Will—"

He didn't answer, and finally Jem had to intervene. "Will, you must speak to us," he said urgently. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Cecily—"

"Yes, you've said that already," Tessa snapped, and I gave her a sympathetic look. The look on her face was similar to the one I'd had when Jem had invented their engagement story.

"My sister," Will finally answered, never tearing his eyes away from the house. "Cecily. She was—Christ, she was nine years old when I left."

"Your sister," Jem said, and understanding colored his tone. But Will didn't even look back at his _parabatai_ —he was already on his feet, hurrying down the hill. Alarm flashed across Jem's face and he scrambled to his feet, running after his friend. "Will, don't—"

Will pushed Jem's arm away from him, the first time I'd ever seen his harshness directed towards him, and said desperately, "If Cecily's there, then the rest of them—my family—they must be there as well."

Tessa and I stood up as well, rushing toward them as fast as we could in our dresses. "But it doesn't make any sense that your family would be here, Will," she panted. "This was Mortmain's house. Starkweather said so. It was in the papers—"

"I _know_ that," he spat.

"Cecily could be visiting someone here—"

"In the middle of Yorkshire, by herself? And that was our carriage. I recognized it. There's no other carriage in the carriage house. No, my family's in this somehow. They've been dragged into this bloody business and I—I have to warn them." Will looked almost like a deer caught in headlights as he spun around and began down the hill again.

"Will!" Jem shouted, and grabbed the back of his coat. Will turned around and shoved him away. Anger flared up inside me, and I started towards him, but this time Tessa held me back. "Don't, Abby," she said breathlessly. "There's nothing you can do."

And she was right—Jem seemed to be handling the situation quite well on his own. With astonishing strength, he yanked Will backward and yelled, "You've held back all these years—you can't waste it now—"

Something must have snapped inside Will, for all of a sudden both boys were rolling down in the hill in a tangle of bodies, each fighting for dominance of the other, and Tessa and I watching horror-struck from the crest of the hill—until Will was pinned against a large rock, Jem holding him down.

"Get off me," Will shouted. "You don't understand. _Your_ family's dead—"

" _Will_ ," Jem said, as calm as it was possible to be in that situation. "I _do_ understand. And unless you want your family dead too, you'll listen to me."

For the first time, Will seemed to realize what he had done, and he went as pale as Tessa had been earlier. In a choked voice he gasped, "James, you can't possibly—I've never—"

"Look," Jem said in a low, dangerous voice, and pointed at the top of the hill. "There. Look." Tessa and I followed his gaze, and I staggered backward as I saw an automaton standing like a guard over us, with no trace of human features in its face.

"By the Angel—" Will gasped. I grabbed Tessa's arm and we both began backing away from it—although it technically did us no good—and we pressed close together as if we were a pair of rabbits cowering away from a fox.

"That thing's been following us; I'm sure of it," Jem explained. "I saw a flash of metal earlier, from the carriage, but I wasn't sure. Now I am. If you go tearing off down the hill, you risk leading that thing right to your family's door."

"I see," Will said resolutely. "I won't go near the house. Let me up. I swear on Raziel's name."

Jem hesitated, but I could see his resolve weakening.

"Let me up," Will demanded in a stronger voice, and when Jem did so, he went tearing off again—but this time in the direction of the automaton instead of the house. Jem swore, the word sounding foreign on his tongue, before following after his _parabatai._

" _Jem!"_ Tessa and I shrieked in unison, and we immediately tore after him. I was still unused to running in dresses, and after Tessa had helped me up for the third time I motioned for her to go on alone. We had almost reached a copse of trees, and I would have rather stayed out in the open than become lost in the woods.

"Tess, _go,"_ I told her after I'd fallen down yet again after twisting my ankle. There was no use in me running anymore, and I didn't fancy the idea of going into the forest.

She looked torn, her hand on my shoulder. "I cannot leave you here by yourself—"

"I have my seraph blade," I said, wincing as I pulled it and my stele out of my pocket. "I can take care of myself. I'll only slow you down. Go and find the boys."

It took her another moment of persuasion, but she finally lifted up her skirts and darted away, casting fearful glances back at me as she did. I appreciated her concern, but the only other person that could be useful in a fight was her. I would only drag her down, and briefly entertained the notion that I might even have asked her to be my _parabatai_ if she was a Shadowhunter.

I was able to draw an _iratze_ on my ankle, and after another moment I was able to stand, good as new—and unluckily, just in time to notice a scurrying in the grass around me. Stuffing my stele back in my pocket, I brandished my seraph blade and took several steps backward, wishing that the grass wasn't so damned long.

My heart nearly stopped when I saw the now terribly familiar black spider, instantly recognizable even as it scuttled through the dirt. But I was ready this time: I gripped the handle of my seraph blade and plunged it down, straight through the spider's abdomen. With a horrible screeching noise of metal gears grinding to a halt, it stopped moving, speared onto the bottom of my weapon.

* * *

I wasn't sure how long it had been before Will, Jem and Tessa came into sight again, each of them splattered with blood and dirt. Will didn't even look at me, trudging straight through the grass back to the road, but Jem and Tessa helped me up, Jem whispering unfamiliar but soothing words to me in Chinese when he saw the spider. I leaned heavily against him and smiled at Tessa, who looked even more troubled than usual.

"What happened?" I was finally able to ask, staring ahead at Will, his dark head bowed and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"We managed to destroy the automaton," Jem explained in a low voice; I could feel the vibration of his throat when he spoke. "It told us it was a warning from the Magister. According to it, we must stop our investigation or Will's family shall pay the price."

It was then I understood that Will's horrid mood was due to worry about his family, such a sickening and awful worry that I couldn't even begin to imagine it. And it was then that I think I finally understood that Will Herondale had a heart after all.

* * *

"It's going to rain," Jem observed, staring out the carriage window. The blue sky from that morning had given way to dark, oppressive clouds, and I could see that the fields some way off were already completely soaked. We were on the edges of the storm, just managing to outrun it.

I shivered in response; it was cold in the carriage, and Jem wound his arm around my shoulders. His skin was freezing as well, but even so, the warmth of another body was enough to make me feel better.

"Cecily," Tessa said thoughtfully, speaking for the first time. "Your sister—she looks like you."

He didn't react.

"Are you cold, Will?" she asked again. He merely shook his head and continued staring out the window, as still as a statue.

Tessa threw a desperate look toward Jem, and he leaned forward. "Will," he began in his most unthreatening, sympathetic voice. "I thought…I thought that your sister was dead."

"My sister _is_ dead," he replied, and his accompanying stare was the coldest yet, so icy that I buried my face in Jem's shoulder, not caring what anybody would say about _that._

* * *

The train ride back to London was nearly silent. We sat in the same places as we had the previous day—Tessa and Will by the window, Jem and I by the doors. Tessa slept for most of the ride, and I stared blankly at the wall above Jem's head, pretending I wasn't looking at him. He tried to get Will to speak, whispering, "Me specta, me specta." _Look at me, look at me._

But Will never did, and I was just beginning to doze off myself when Jem abruptly stood up and left the compartment. Forcing my aching muscles to obey, I jumped up after him. He sensed my pursuit and stopped just outside the corridor. I reached for his hand and he squeezed it reassuringly—we didn't have to worry about keeping up appearances here. "Where are you going?" I asked as we passed numerous compartments filled with men and women just coming back from their weekend trips to the country.

"To get a cloth for yours and Tessa's hands," Jem explained. I glanced down at my free hand, and was amazed to see that it was covered in dirt. How had I not noticed that before?

"Sorry," I apologized, trying to take my hand out of Jem's. But he held on firmly, leaning over to kiss my jaw as I found myself pressed against the wall, just around the corner from the nobility's compartments. This was dangerous territory we were skirting into, but it only made the thrill more pleasurable as I kissed his jaw in return before moving to his mouth. We kissed softly for a moment before Jem reluctantly pulled away and whispered, "Soon," under his breath, causing my heart to race at ten times its normal speed.

He ducked into the bathroom to grab a cloth and run it under a washstand before coming back over to me and running the cloth over my fingers, caressing my wrist as he did. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm worried about him," I confessed, staring up into his silver eyes. "Will, I mean."

"He'll snap out of it. He always does," Jem tried to reassure me as we made our way back to our compartment. But this time was different, and both of us knew it.

* * *

Will and Tessa had been locked in earnest conversation just before we arrived, and by the time we sat back down they had lapsed into silence again. "A miracle," Jem said wryly. "You got him to speak."

"Just to shout at me, really. Not quite loaves and fishes." Tessa frowned at Will, who was now trying to pretend that they hadn't been speaking.

"It's a start," Jem said, handing the cloth over to Tessa, who took it gratefully.

"Jessie would be horrified," she said as she washed her hands. "She'd tell me I had charwoman's hands."

"And what, pray tell, is dishonorable about that?" Jem asked. "I saw you and Abby chase after us and that automaton creature. If Jessamine does not know by now that there is honor in dirt and blood, she never will."

Tessa grinned. "Thank you. I doubt I was any help at all, and probably a hindrance, but thank you all the same."

"That's what we're training you for, isn't it?" They shared a smile, but this time I didn't feel jealous at all. There was no hint of anything deeper than friendship in their eyes, nothing past the "bounds of propriety", as Jem had called it earlier today.

Tessa dropped her voice to a murmur as she asked him, "Have you any idea what could have happened? Why Will's family would be living in a house Mortmain once owned?"

Jem shook his head. "I do not, though it makes me think that the game Mortmain is playing is a long one. Somehow he knew exactly where our investigations would lead us, and he arranged for this—encounter—to shock us as much as possible. He wishes us to be reminded who it is who has the power." But before he could say anything else, he broke into a coughing fit, his breathing rattling and shallow. This finally caused Will to look over at him, alarm visible in his eyes. I leaned forward and placed a hand on Jem's knee, urging him to respond.

He straightened up and gave us all a kindly smile, though it was clear he was shaken. "Just some dust in my throat."

Tessa and I exchanged a worried glance, but it didn't get any farther than that as the screech of the train's brakes became audible. Before it even stopped, Will was on his feet, leaving the compartment and jumping down onto the platform. Jem made to follow him, but seemed to realize that he couldn't abandon us and sank back down onto his seat.

"But Will—" Tessa began, staring apprehensively after him.

"He'll be all right. You know how he is. Sometimes he just wants to be alone. And I doubt he wishes to take part in recounting today's experiences to Charlotte and the others. Will can take care of himself, Tessa." Jem's tone was kind but firm.

She still didn't look convinced, but glanced away from him and out the window, her grey eyes troubled. I met Jem's gaze instead, and we shared a plainly worried look. I was surprised that I was concerned about Will too; we'd certainly never shared more than a few minutes of amicability, but I had evidently slowly grown to care for him as well.

Jem reached out for me, and I took his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. He smiled tiredly at me, and I longed to kiss him and ease at least some of the anxiety from his mind. But that was impossible here, in such a public place, and so I had to settle for resting my head on his shoulder as he slid open the door to the compartment and helped me out of the train. We waited on the platform for Tessa, and when she finally arrived the three of us silently collected our luggage and went to meet Cyril. None of us spoke again all the way back to the Institute, but it was clear that our thoughts were currently very similar.


	22. Twenty-Two

**"A** nd you've absolutely no idea where he is?" Charlotte asked, not for the first time. "Will is simply—gone?"

At that moment, I felt more sympathetic toward Charlotte than I ever had before, along with a sharp rush of anger towards Will. While he was off gallivanting and most likely drowning his sorrows, Charlotte, who had the added pressures of being the head of the Institute to deal with, now had Will to worry about on top of the rest of her burdens. And I would have bet almost everything I owned that Will had never showed any inkling of appreciation to her in person. By the Angel, even _I_ had bigger things to think about than Will Herondale, and yet here I was, seated on the couch between Tessa and Jem and hanging on to every word. While Jem had explained the events in Yorkshire and on the train, I had stared wordlessly down at my lap, clenching and unclenching my hands which were resting on my knees, encased in their white gloves. I was struck by a sudden sense of ridiculousness, as if I was just a child playacting that I was living in the Victorian era. My corset suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, and I stared at my pale face in the reflection of the mirror across the room, my brown eyes wide and my mouth set in a pained grimace. My dress, my gloves, my hairstyle felt foreign on me, and I was struck by the abrupt flash of _not belonging_ that I had only ever experienced when I'd first arrived in 1878. I had the overwhelming urge to tear my shoes and gloves off and instead pull on my comfortable jeans and sweater, hiding under my bedclothes and pretending I was still at home.

Homesickness always hit me at the worst of times.

A slight, warm pressure gently brushed my wrist, but that was enough to pull me back to reality. I looked over at Jem, who was lightly stroking the exposed skin between my glove and dress sleeve; he'd evidently noticed my anguish. He met my gaze for a brief moment, giving me a smile so earnest that somehow had the same effect on me as drinking an entire mug of hot chocolate would, and my shivers disappeared as if his hand was a source of heat in itself. I sat back against the couch, my heartbeat slowed and my breathing calmed, knowing that I had been about to have an anxiety attack. I closed my eyes momentarily and listened only to Jem's words, deliberately not thinking of anything else. I ached to take his hand in my own, but anything more than a gentle touch would give us away.

"Charlotte," he was saying soothingly, in response to her previous question. "It isn't as if this is unusual. When do we ever know where Will is at nighttime?"

"But this is different. He saw his family, or his sister at least. Oh, poor Will. I had thought perhaps he was finally beginning to forget about them…" Through the tiny crack between my eyelids, I could see Charlotte putting her face into her hands. Henry, who was standing behind her and dressed in a horrible green-and-red-striped waistcoat, put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"No one forgets about their family," Jessamine spoke up from her seat on the chaise longue, her tone sharp—her presence was an unwelcome addition to the room, as she seemed to carry her constant sour mood around with her like a cloud. I had to admit that she'd been unusually quiet during the discussion, as was Sophie, who was tending to the fire. I silently prayed that she hadn't noticed the exchange between Jem and I.

"Well, no, of course not, but perhaps not to live with the memory constantly, as a sort of dreadful weight on you," Charlotte admitted. She looked stricken, and in that moment younger than she ever had; as if she was sixteen instead of twenty-three.

"As if we'd know what to do with Will if he didn't have the morbs every day," Jessamine muttered, barely looking up from her sewing. "Anyway, he can't have cared about his family that much in the first place or he wouldn't have left them."

"How can you say that?" Tessa demanded, frowning at Jessamine and coming to Will's aid as usual. My eyes flickered over to her, and even she looked slightly taken aback at her own outburst, but bravely continued on. "You don't know why he left. You didn't see his face at Ravenscar Manor—"

"Ravenscar Manor," mused Charlotte, staring out the window blindly. "Of all the places I thought they'd go…"

"Pish and tosh. At least his family's alive," Jessamine said, putting down her sewing and surveying the room with her usual bitter glare. "Besides, I'll wager he wasn't sad at all; I'll wager you he was shamming. He always is."

"What do you mean, of all the places you'd thought they'd go?" Jem interrupted, as Tessa opened her mouth to retort again. "Did you know that Will's family had moved?"

"Jem…"

"It's important, Charlotte." Jem's voice was soft, pleading; he was so persuasive that I didn't blame Charlotte for relenting.

"After Will's parents came here to see him, when he was twelve, and he sent them away…I begged him to speak to them, just for a moment, but he wouldn't. I tried to make him understand that if they left, then he could never see them again, and I could never tell him news of them. He took my hand, and he said, 'Please just promise me you'll tell me if they die, Charlotte. Promise me.' It was such an odd request for a little boy to make. I—I had to say yes."

Charlotte Branwell, I decided, was far too kind for her own good. If I had been her, and Will had treated me callously and cruelly for years, I would be tempted to tell him that I had no news of his family. But there was something so vulnerable yet unwavering about Charlotte that it was impossible for me to _not_ feel understanding towards her.

"So you've been looking into the welfare of Will's family?" asked Tessa.

"I hired Ragnor Fell to do it," Charlotte answered. Ragnor Fell, I knew, was a warlock who was on semi-friendly terms with the Fairchilds. "For the first three years. The fourth year he came back to me and told me that the Herondales had moved. Edmund Herondale—that's Will's father—had lost their house—"

"Gambling," I said before I was even consciously aware I was speaking. Everyone turned to me in shock, but no one was more surprised than I was; my hand actually flew up to my throat as if checking that I had really spoken. Even Jessamine's head had shot up at this new tidbit of information.

"How do you know, Abby?" asked Tessa, the first to recover herself. Her eyes were even wider than usual.

I felt myself turning red under their astonished gazes; I wished I hadn't spoken. "I—I don't know," I admitted, staring down at the floor again. But I wasn't telling the entire truth: I had heard the name Edmund Herondale before—but not here, in my _other_ life. Mom had spoken it aloud once, and although I could remember the general context—I had been quite young and sitting at our kitchen table, eating a peanut butter sandwich—the strangest things that memory clung onto—I had no idea how the name had come up in conversation or even what Mom had been talking about. The mystery of my father's family as well as that of the clockwork spiders and the Greater Demon was growing more complex and intricate by the day. It was as if I was struggling to put together a jigsaw puzzle and I only had half of the pieces. Somehow, everything fit together—the spiders, the Greater Demon, Dad being exiled from the Clave…but I didn't have the entire puzzle, and even if I _did_ have all the pieces I doubted I would be able to fit them together in the correct pattern.

When it became clear that I wasn't going to explain, Charlotte reluctantly began to speak again. "That was all I was able to glean. The Herondales had been forced to move. He could find no further trace of them."

"Did you ever tell Will?"

"No. He had made me promise to tell him if they died, that was all. Why add to his unhappiness with the knowledge that they had lost their home? He never mentioned them. I had grown to hope he might have forgotten—"

"He has never forgotten." Jem's voice was hard, and I could have sworn that there was almost a reprimanding tone to it. I looked over at him, slightly dumbfounded, but his silver eyes were on Charlotte, who seemed appropriately abashed.

"I should not have done it," she admitted, wringing her small hands together. "I should never have made that promise. It was a contravention of the Law—"

"When Will truly wants something, when he _feels_ something, he can break your heart." This time Jem's voice was barely above a whisper. He had taken his hand off my wrist, and was now sitting perfectly still, as if every muscle in his body had been frozen, his posture almost tense. His immobility made me, in turn, restless, and I stood up, striding over to the mirror across the room and staring at the now-reversed scene. Neither Jem nor Tessa moved to fill the space on the couch that I had vacated. Charlotte was still looking distraught; Henry was trying his best to comfort her; Jessamine looked utterly bored with the entire situation and had resumed her sewing; and Sophie was now standing upright from her place by the fireplace, looking as if she was unsure whether to leave the room or continue listening. The topic had changed, something about Mortmain and dark magic, but I wasn't listening anymore. Exhaustion had weighed down my eyelids—had it really been this morning that we'd gone to Ravenscar Manor? The train ride and now this lengthy debate had made the day seem longer than it actually was, and by all accounts I should be longing for dinner, but I wasn't hungry at all. I was still pondering over the mystery of how I knew about Edmund Herondale—over how _Mom_ knew about him. It wasn't often that she spoke about the Shadow World, except when she'd had one too many glasses of wine and was in a forthcoming mood to begin with—but, I reasoned, it probably had something to do with Marcus. Wouldn't Edmund be his ancestor, after all? I had probably asked a question about Marcus and Mom had given me more information than was necessary. Or... well, that was the only connection I could think of.

Turning away from the mirror, where my breath had fogged up the reflections in the glass until they had become only indistinct blurs, I began to ask if Will had any brothers or male cousins, but nobody even looked up at the movement. I wondered if the others had forgotten I was still in the room.

"Tessa," Charlotte was saying, "I hate to ask this of you, but it is, after all, why we sent you to Yorkshire, and we must leave no stone unturned. You still have the button from Starkweather's coat?"

She nodded. "You want me to Change into him?"

"Tessa, if you do not want to do this, Charlotte— _we_ —would never require it," Jem was quick to add, diplomatic as ever. I frowned; I hadn't known that Tessa had managed to get a button of Starkweather's. How on earth did she manage _that?_

"I know. But I offered, and I would not go back on my word," she said firmly, giving a consenting nod.

Charlotte was visibly relieved. "Thank you, Tessa. We must know if there is anything he is hiding from us—if he was lying to you about any part of this business. His involvement in what happened to the Shades…"

"It will be a dark day when you cannot trust your fellow Shadowhunters, Lottie," Henry remarked, sounding graver than I had ever heard him.

"It is a dark day already, Henry dear. Now, dinner should be served any moment, so I shall not keep you from it. Thank you all very much; you've given invaluable assistance." Charlotte managed a grim smile, although she was still averting her eyes. Jessamine was the first one to leave, shooting up from her chair and heading out the door so fast that I was envious of her ability to move so fast in such a constricting dress. Sophie left next, taking off her cap and giving Charlotte a little curtsy, as if communicating that she was willing to obey any future commands if need be. Jem and Tessa were both halfway across the room before Jem turned back to me, his expression questioning and a slight frown crossing his features. "Abby?" he asked curiously. "Aren't you going to join us for dinner?"

I shook my head. "Both of you go on ahead," I told them. "I need to speak with Charlotte."

Jem still looked puzzled and perhaps disappointed, but Tessa's expression told me that she understood. She was, after all, the one who had encouraged me to talk to Charlotte in the first place. After another moment, the two of them left as well, Jem giving one of his customary gentle smiles as he closed the door. I vowed to explain everything to him later; if anyone could make me feel better about this entire mess, it was him.

"Is there anything wrong, Abby?" Charlotte asked me from her place on the chair, looking just as puzzled as Jem had. "You seem upset."

"Is it that obvious?" I asked wryly, taking a seat on the chaise lounge where Jessamine's sewing still lay on the armrest. "I—I've been debating whether to tell you something for quite a while, but I've been hesitant because I know you already have enough on your mind…"

"Oh, no, of course not," Charlotte assured me, although her words might have been more convincing if I hadn't been present for the previous discussion. She glanced up at Henry, who was humming to himself and seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the others had left. "Henry, would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?"

"No, he can stay," I said quickly—it would have been unlikely that he would have left anyway, as it appeared he hadn't even heard Charlotte's words. "It's nothing, really. It's just—when Benedict Lightwood visited the other day, he told me in no uncertain terms that he knew I was lying about the circumstances of my arrival in London, and he researched the Cartwright family and has disproven the story I told the Clave…I'm afraid he's going to blackmail me in some way." I bit my tongue before I could tell her about the clockwork spiders in York; that was a problem she could hardly do anything about, especially since I wasn't in Yorkshire any longer.

Charlotte sat back in her chair, lines of worry creasing her face again. "I think that is most likely his goal. If we do not capture Mortmain within the next nine days, he will threaten to tell the Clave that he has proof I lied about your origins."

I ducked my head in apology, my throat already choking up. "I'm sorry, Charlotte," I said fervently. "I should have agreed to tell the Clave the truth from the start. It's doing me no good to keep the secret from the rest of the Shadowhunters. I cannot stay here forever."

"Abby, please don't blame yourself," Charlotte answered. "None of this is your fault." But I could see it in her eyes—it was just as she had said on the night I'd first arrived here, that I was just another burden to her. And I hadn't contributed anything to the Institute in the least, aside from being someone else for her to keep track of—even Tessa had provided help, and she'd only been here half as long as me. I had done nothing except get in the way.

"This is certainly problematic, isn't it?" Henry asked mildly, his brow furrowed as if he was thinking hard. "What Abby needs is a device of some sort that will allow her to lie convincingly…"

Charlotte raised her head. "No, Henry, she most certainly does _not_ need your help right now—"

But there was no deterring Henry; his green eyes suddenly lit up, and he was sparking with an energy that rivalled even Will's at his best moments. "The bracelet!" he exclaimed, and dashed out of the room, pausing only to beckon me after him.

I looked over at Charlotte for help, and with a sigh she replied, "I suppose there is no stopping him," which was as close to an agreement as I was waiting for. The door was now standing wide open, and I was all too happy to slip out of the room, leaving Charlotte alone with her thoughts.

* * *

Henry's lab was as cold and dank as ever; I began to shiver the second my feet left the staircase, and I wished I'd brought a shawl. The puffy sleeves of my dress did little to keep out the freezing temperature, and I rubbed my arms to warm them as I stepped into the lab, wary of standing too close to any of the inventions lest they backfire without any warning.

His long legs had propelled him downstairs twice as fast as mine, and he was already hurrying towards me with what looked like a bracelet in his hands. "It's a wonderful coincidence that you happen to be the perfect one to try this out," he told me happily as he handed the strange object over; I took it with no small amount of apprehension. "I'm afraid it wouldn't look as inconspicuous on a boy."

"Er, what exactly is it, anyway?" I dared to ask, turning it over in my hands. It looked perfectly ordinary, like the silver charm bracelets that were a dime a dozen at the dollar stores back home. But there was no clasp, and I hadn't expected to see any charms dangling from it.

"A Bracelet," Henry repeated, the capital letter evident in his tone. "It can only be used along with a Persuasion rune and harnesses the power so that anyone you are speaking to will be convinced that you are telling the truth. If you tell Benedict Lightwood that _he_ was the one who made the mistake and that your mother and father died in America and you were sent over here, he is bound to believe you."

I tried not to look too skeptical as I slipped it onto my wrist cautiously, trying not to seem as if I was worried that I would spontaneously combust. To my relief, nothing happened, so I brought out my stele and carefully drew a Persuasion rune on my palm. I waited for a surge of confidence, but as the seconds ticked by I still felt like plain old Abby. _Well,_ I told myself, _at least I didn't spontaneously combust._

"Henry—" I began slowly. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Of course it will," he said immediately, but grimaced. "Blast it. You should have been able to convince me that it wouldn't."

An idea suddenly struck me, and I raised my head to look him directly in the eye. "I meant that I'm not going to be able to lie to Benedict Lightwood, because he discovered the truth. I'm not really a Cartwright. I chose the name because I resembled them. It was Charlotte's idea."

It was difficult to tell whether it was the effect of the bracelet or Henry's absent-mindedness, but his brow furrowed and he squinted at me. "You're…you're not?" he asked uncertainly. "But you hardly seem the type to do such a thing…and Lottie never told me a word about it…"

I grinned at him, and his expression relaxed into one of triumph. "By the Angel, it works!" Henry crowed, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me once around the room in joy. "This is a wonderful discovery—I must inform the others!" Without waiting for an answer, he dashed out of the room and up the stairs, leaving me to fend for myself in his laboratory of strange, possibly lethal inventions. I glanced at the nearest table, and my eyes fell on the skeleton of a clockwork spider, its legs spread across the wood and its mechanical underbelly still ticking away as if a heart was beating inside of its flesh. Shuddering, I tore my gaze away from it and rushed after Henry.

* * *

I still had no desire to eat dinner, as my stomach was still churning from the events of the day. But my restlessness hadn't faded, and I was too keyed up to go to bed. Not surprisingly, I eventually found myself in the music room, sitting at the piano bench and hoping that Jem would find me. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, to reassure him that Will wouldn't leave him and Tessa. I wanted to hear him play his violin and smile brightly at me while I composed a song for him on the piano. While I pondered, my fingers began to absent-mindedly tap the keys, creating the same melody that I had been playing before we'd gone to York, the one that Tessa had told me she didn't recognize. I had begun subconsciously calling it "Jem's theme" in my head, and had been composing it during the long hours on the train. It started off soft and sweet, but gradually built into a crescendo until I could concentrate on nothing but the music, pushing away all irrelevant, unrelated thoughts out of my mind—

The door swung open behind me, and I spun around on the bench, the lid slamming shut as I accidentally knocked it over with my elbow, feeling flustered and self-conscious, as if I had just bared my soul to someone unknowingly.

But there was nobody there, and I stared uncomprehendingly at the empty corridor for a moment before I noticed that a large grey shape had slunk into the room, pausing in the middle of the floor where the moonlight poured in through the cracks in the curtains.

"Church," I breathed, sliding off the bench and kneeling down to the floor as he watched me with malevolent yellow eyes. "Were you looking for Jem?"

He merely swished his tail back and forth, looking at me with what I was sure was disapproval. I reached out my hand to pet him, but my hand only got within an inch of his fur before he lashed out and I felt his teeth sink into my skin. I jumped back with a cry, staring in disbelief at the blood already beginning to well at the scratch on my hand, just below my Voyance rune.

"Stupid cat," I exclaimed, nudging him with the heel of my boot. "Get out of here!" With an annoyed yowl, Church tore out of the room as quickly as he'd come, and I slammed the door behind him, still nursing my cut. It was bleeding badly—he must have hit a vein—and dropped back onto the piano bench, wiping the blood away with my sleeve as best as possible. Tears were welling up into my eyes, but it was more from the pain than my anxiety at my situation, which seemed to become more and more impossible every day. I knew I would have to go and try to convince Benedict Lightwood that my past wasn't worth examining, and that the stories he had been told were all true. Perhaps I would go to Lightwood House tomorrow and see if I could speak to him. Doing a bit of investigating for Charlotte didn't sound like such a horrible idea, either…

I stayed in the music room until the clock chimed midnight and I was nearly falling asleep at the keys. I was finally forced to give up and admit that Jem wasn't going to show up that night, and gathered up my skirts as I headed back to my bedroom. I paused as I passed Jem's door, hoping at least to hear him playing the violin, but I was only met with silence.


	23. Twenty-Three

**T** he purplish light of dawn woke me the next morning—not that I'd been sleeping very well in the first place. I slowly sat up in bed, my fingers fiddling with Henry's bracelet as I noticed that I'd forgotten to take it off. Whether or not it actually _worked_ —and even if it did, it would probably end up _dissuading,_ not persuading, and so I would always have to say the opposite of what I really meant—but I felt embarrassed for not thanking him. His heart was in the right place, even if his mind usually wasn't.

I'd just stood up and pulled on my dressing-gown when I heard Sophie's voice outside my door; it sounded like she was whispering. Curious, I opened it a crack and poked my head into the corridor—and just as quickly drew back once I realized _what_ I was seeing.

Sophie was standing in the middle of the hallway, smiling up at Gideon Lightwood, whose green eyes were bright and eager as he stared down at her—similar to the way Jem often looked at me. They were standing very close together—intimately close, even by my standards, never mind those of the Victorian era—and appeared to be laughing at some secret joke.

Both of them turned when they heard my door open, jumping apart with slightly guilty expressions. I remembered too late that it was improper for a gentleman to see a lady in her nightgown, but I didn't particularly care about etiquette at the moment. "Miss Abby!" Sophie breathed, and hurried over to me without a backward glance, but I was looking at Gideon. I hadn't ever interacted with him aside from a brief nod in passing. Perhaps I'd erroneously assumed he was similar to Gabriel in terms of personality—but he had to be decent, or why would Sophie have been gazing at him in that way? At any rate, he'd politely averted his gaze from me and was now staring down at the floor.

"Um, Mr Lightwood—Gideon," I addressed him, knowing that I looked a complete mess but not caring, "I apologize for…interrupting you, but I wanted to ask—this might be a strange question, but where do you live? I mean— where is your family manor?"

Gideon frowned at me, clearly confused, but appeared to deem me harmless and answered, "It is in Chiswick. Is there any particular reason for your question, Miss Cartwright?"

"No," I lied, smiling graciously at him. "I was simply curious." He still looked puzzled, and I took this opportunity to follow Sophie back into my room, but just as I was about to step inside I heard my name again.

"Miss Cartwright," Gideon called after me. I turned around and looked questioningly at him, hoping my expression wasn't too guilty. "I feel I should warn you," he said in a lower voice, stepping towards me. "My father has been speaking of you in the past days. I do not wish to alarm you, but I believe he wishes to…to obtain some sort of information. He will stop at nothing to acquire it. He requested that I deliver this letter to you."

My lips parted slightly and I stared at him, unsure how to respond. I immediately wondered if it was a trap, but Gideon's eyes were earnest, his brow furrowed in concentration, and I couldn't help but believe him. "Thank you," I told him truthfully, reaching out and taking the envelope. "I'll keep that in mind."

Gideon inclined his head forward, still seeming concerned. "Good day, Miss Cartwright. Sophie, I shall see you in the training room shortly." He strode off down the corridor, leaving me to stare after him in astonishment. When he had disappeared, I pulled out the letter, which was addressed to Miss Abigail Cartwright, written in a loose, flowing hand:

_Your presence is desired at Lightwood House this morning. I wish to discuss important matters with you. Please do not inform anyone of this visit, or unforeseen consequences may arise._

_Sincerely,_

_B. Lightwood_

I gulped; his threat was obvious. And it was most likely a trap. But did I really have any choice?

Suddenly aware that I was standing in the middle of the corridor with my mouth hanging open, I shut my door behind me and silently walked over to the vanity table, where Sophie had been patiently waiting.

"You can trust him, miss," Sophie told me. "Master Lightwood would not lie about something like this."

"Sophie, you can call him Gideon around me," I remarked, closing my eyes and leaning my head back as I felt her pull a brush through my hair. "I think I know what you feel about him."

I heard her small intake of breath and the brush's progress halted. "I do not feel anything for him," she said, her tone clipped. "He is a Shadowhunter, and I am a mundane servant." Sensing that her tone had been harsher than she intended, she added, "He could never regard me as an equal. I would be, at best some sort of…of mistress for him."

"Oh, I don't know," I mused, grinning at her. "He was looking at you like you were the only other person in the world. He would be lucky to have you, Sophie."

I'd managed to coax a smile out of her, and she relaxed as she fixed my braid. "That is very kind of you, Miss Abby. But I shall not allow myself to entertain such dreams—for that is what they are, nothing more."

I glanced up at her. "Sophie—"

But she was still smiling, albeit with a tinge of sadness. "You are comparing Master Lightwood to Master Jem," she continued while I stared wide-eyed at her. "But you need not worry about Master Jem. My regard for him was a girlish fancy, nothing more. I can see that he is besotted with you, and you with him. I just hope that his heart shall not be broken. He deserves every bit of happiness this life has to offer."

"So…so you're saying that you don't…don't care for him anymore?" I asked, trying not to betray my hope. If I knew for certain that Sophie wasn't in love with Jem…

Sophie chuckled. "No, not for quite a while," she admitted as she resumed brushing my hair. "I do still _care_ , of course, but of that as a sister or a dear friend. Even before you arrived, I knew that he would never return my feelings. I would much rather love a man whom I knew felt the same about me."

"Like Gideon?" I asked slyly.

She didn't look amused in the least. "I would prefer it if you did not speak about this to anyone, Miss Abby. Mrs Branwell would be horrified if she knew that such things were occurring when Master Lightwood was supposed to be training me."

I nodded. "Of course. And…" I thought of her walking in on my passionate embrace with Jem, and automatically blushed. " _I_ would prefer it if you didn't speak about my…entanglement with Jem to anyone, either. Tessa and Will know, but I don't think Charlotte has guessed."

"Your secret is safe with me," Sophie replied, and we both shared a conspiratorial smile. I hoped that my blatant relief wasn't showing on my face—I felt as if I could jump up in the air with excitement. My guilt about Sophie's feelings for Jem had really been what was holding me back all this time, and now that I knew I didn't need to beat myself up over it anymore it was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

"Has Will returned?" I asked after another moment, wincing as my hair was tied up in a bun so tight my brain felt like it was being pulled out of my skull.

"No," Sophie replied, although she didn't sound upset at all by this fact. "But don't worry, miss—I know he'll return. It's not unusual for him to be gone for days at a time."

But I remembered Jem's strained expression the previous day, and the circumstances under which Will had left, and thought to myself that this was no ordinary disappearance.

* * *

As soon as Sophie left, I changed into my fighting gear and slipped my stele and seraph blade into my pockets, a newly-inked Persuasion rune on my arm. I decided that it was finally time to take matters into my own hands. If I managed to find out what Benedict Lightwood was _really_ plotting, and to somehow convince him that I was really Abigail Cartwright and that I _was_ orphaned, everyone at the Institute would be proud of me, and perhaps I wouldn't be seen as such a waste of space anymore.

My tours around London with Jem had paid off; I was fully aware where Chiswick was, and was certain I would be able to get to Lightwood House and back within the day—hopefully Cyril wouldn't mind waiting around for me.

Privately, I was grateful that I didn't run into Jem on my way outside, since I didn't want anything distracting me from my goal. I had my mind set on one objective, and any interruptions could prove to stop me altogether. Besides, Jem would want to know where I was going and why I was doing it, the answers to both of which I knew he wouldn't approve of. At the very least, he would be unsure about it, and I didn't want him becoming so distraught on my behalf. The nagging voice at the back of my mind still believed that I wasn't worth it.

But when I stepped out into the courtyard, there was no sign of either Cyril or the carriage anywhere. I halted on the front steps, dismayed and completely lost. It just went to show how frail my plan actually was—one part didn't align perfectly and then the whole thing threatened to tumble down.

The doors of the Institute opened behind me and I pivoted around to see Bridget stride out, carrying a bucket of water in her arms. "Where's Cyril?" I asked her at once, stepping in front of her so she couldn't pass.

Bridget narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me. "He's gone to run errands for Mrs Branwell," she replied, her strong Irish brogue colouring her words so that I had to strain to understand her. "Do you want me to deliver him a love note?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "When will he be back?"

"Not until after lunch," Bridget said shortly. Sensing that she was about to begin singing one of her horribly depressing songs, I interrupted, "Is that for the horses?" and nodded at the bucket of the water. When this was met with an affirmative, I offered, "I can take it to them—er, whichever one of the horses is still here."

"You're a strange one, lass," Bridget said cheerfully, but shoved it into my arms all the same and disappeared inside, leaving me standing on the steps and wondering if Henry's Persuasion bracelet didn't make one act very recklessly instead.

* * *

Judging by the name written on his stall door, the horse left at the Institute was Xanthos, who had been the one to pull the carriage for Jem and I on our way back from the Dark Sisters' mansion while Will rode ahead on Balios. I didn't know much about horses, aside from going through a short phase with wanting one when I was a child like most little girls did, and only vaguely remembered going on pony rides at the zoo. Nevertheless, I gave Xanthos a carrot to earn his trust before attempting to tack him up, fumbling with the saddle and bridle for at least ten minutes before I finally gave up and just prayed that I wouldn't fall off. Taking a deep breath, I stuck my foot into one of the footholds on the side of his stall before bravely pulling myself up onto his back. I was fairly certain that women were supposed to ride sidesaddle in this day and age, but as I would be glamoured during the ride to Chiswick I couldn't really care less about this rule.

Nudging Xanthos with my foot, I grabbed the reins and a handful of his mane, hanging on for dear life as he obediently turned around and began to walk out of the stable, his head bobbing with each step. We were barely moving and I already felt as if I was in danger of slipping off; I was beginning to wish that I'd campaigned harder for horseback riding lessons when I was younger.

I was debating whether or not to draw an Equilibrium rune on myself when I realized how silly that would be—not to mention it would involve taking one hand off the reins. _By the Angel, you're a Shadowhunter, Abby,_ I mentally chastised myself as we headed across the courtyard and through the gates of the Institute, Xanthos breaking into a fast trot. _You shouldn't need a rune just to be able to sit on a horse._

This mantra kept repeating over and over in my head as I rode through the streets of London, a path stretching out in front of me that was curiously free of mundanes—they would just happen to pause or decide to go into a building across the road if they got too close. Glamours were tricky to master, and even trickier to see through, but once you got the hang of it everything was worth it, I decided as we avoided running into a carriage that had stopped in front of me, everyone's eyes sliding right past us.

Once we'd cleared the main city and emerged into a park, Xanthos began to canter, and this time I really hung on for dear life, closing my eyes and gripping the reins and his mane as tightly as I could. The movement of the horse under me only served to reaffirm my naturally poor balance, and it took several minutes before I was able to loosen my iron grip.

But, I had to admit, the feeling of galloping through Hyde Park, the river running on one side and the bustling city on another, was mesmerizing in a sense, and after a minute I opened my eyes, savouring the feeling of the wind against my face and the sight of buildings and people flashing by, completely oblivious to my presence. For the first time I understood why Jem and Will loved wandering around London.

* * *

Chiswick was a half hour ride from the Institute, and my momentary giddiness vanished as soon as Lightwood House came into view, its massive size visible even from a mile away. Its gardens stretched all the way down to the Thames, and it was even larger than de Quincey's mansion had been—all towering pillars and cavernous windows. It looked to be at least three times the size of the London Institute, and I wondered why the Lightwoods wanted to live at the Institute instead of this palatial house.

Xanthos slowed to a walk as I approached the mansion, and I took a moment to catch my breath as he halted under the shade of a large oak tree, protected from the glare of the sun. It was a hot July day, and sweat had already begun to gather at the nape of my neck as I hopped off, relieved to feel ground under my feet again. The heat was more stifling than I was used to, and I was immediately ashamed of myself—the temperature had finally warmed, the sun was shining, and I was complaining about the heat! I would be laughed at by the entire population of San Francisco if they were to know about it. Then again, I doubted many people wore skintight, black leather outfits and rode a horse around the city in eighty-degree weather, either, so perhaps I did have a justifiable excuse after all.

Xanthos seemed content to stay where he was and had begun to graze on the grass, so I clumsily tied his reins to a low, thick branch and gave him a pat before heading across the road to the wrought-iron gate at the front of the property that also happened to be heavily glamoured—the gate glimmered and twisted out of focus at a certain angle, and when I paused in front of it I saw that the spikes decorating the top were quivering slightly, as if prepared to launch themselves at any intruder. All in all, it wasn't a very welcoming sight—but Benedict wanted to speak to me, and whether or not it was a trap, I had to find information—about my family and about my situation. I had gone without answers for too long.

I raised my hand to knock, or to see if there was some way to convey a message across it—but the gate swung open under my touch, and I stood there, shocked, for a moment, my hand still suspended in the air. When it became clear that nobody had opened it _for_ me, I assumed that it must have magically unlocked itself—the bar had been drawn across the inside when I'd arrived.

Glancing back across the road one last time to make sure Xanthos was still secured to the tree, I hesitantly stepped through the gate, flinching slightly when it swung shut behind me with a clang of metal. Now I could see that a path led up to the main house, winding through perfectly-manicured gardens with trimmed hedges and stone bricks. I could hear the splashing of a fountain somewhere in the distance, but the pleasant atmosphere did nothing to dispel the dread I was currently experiencing.

"You are new here, my girl," a woman's voice said from behind me, and I whirled around, my mouth dropping open at the sight and my hands falling uselessly to my side. I was struck with the urge to either scream or run—I didn't know which—as I stared in horror at the shadowy figure in front of me, a figure which had most certainly not been there before.

She was fairly young, in her late twenties or early thirties, wearing a long white nightdress splattered with crimson blood. Brown, curling hair fell down to her shoulders and her striking green eyes regarded me with interest. But the blood wasn't what startled me—it was the fact that she was _transparent_ , a shimmery, ethereal figure not quite solid, as if she was part of my imagination come to life. But I had never seen her before, much less thought of her. "Do not be afraid," she continued, and I swallowed hard; her voice was as real as my own. "Have you not seen a ghost before?"

"A—a ghost?" I asked slowly, although my mind was working a mile a minute. "I—I didn't know that I could see them. I thought only a minority of Shadowhunters could—at least that's what the _Codex_ says."

"A minority which you are part of," the woman replied. She had a sad smile on her face. "I have been wandering these grounds for thirteen years, and you are the second person I have encountered who can see spirits. The first one, a dark-haired boy about your age, was not quite so friendly—"

"Excuse me, miss," I said as bravely as I could, "But how _exactly_ can I see ghosts? And who are you?"

"The gift is hereditary," she told me, and I had to rub my eyes to make sure I was still seeing correctly; I had always thought of ghosts as only present in dark, silent corridors at midnight, not outside in broad daylight. "You must have an ancestor who has the Sight. My name is Barbara Lightwood."

"Lightwood," I breathed. "You're Benedict's wife!"

" _Was,"_ she corrected me, a faraway look in her eyes. "I ceased being his wife once he entangled himself with demon women. He became afflicted with demon pox and passed it on to me. Rather than live with the disease, I took my own life. It stays dormant in the veins for years before it makes its effects known. Benedict is slowly beginning to deteriorate now. I have always kept an eye on my children, but now I fear they are beyond my help."

I remembered Will once mentioning something about demon pox, although the memory was so distant it might as well have happened in another life. It was a tragic story, certainly, but why was she divulging this information to me?

"Mrs Lightwood—" I began.

"Please call me Barbara," she urged, and floated closer to me; I felt a cool breeze on my skin and shivered. Now I could see something like despair and loneliness in her eyes, and I suddenly understood: she had been alone for years, without anyone to talk to or even to interact with—anyone would long for company after being invisible for over a decade. "Are you here to see Gideon or Gabriel?"

"No," I stammered as her friendliness became clear: she thought I was a potential wife for one of them; a future daughter-in-law. "I'm not. I'm here to see Benedict, actually. He…he and I have a…disagreement we need to settle."

"Ah," Barbara said, and an almost worried look entered her eyes. "Whatever the reason, you must be careful. Benedict has never been…wise."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked her, but she had started to fade away, her outline becoming less and less corporeal. "Mrs Light— _Barbara,_ I don't understand. How is he not wise? I don't wish to harm your family—"

"But _you_ yourself are family, dear girl," she told me; her appearance had almost faded into nothingness. "Why do you think I wished to speak to you?"

"Family?" I asked. "No, I'm sorry, I think you're mistaken—I'm a Cartwright, not a Lightwood…"

"I know you are family," Barbara repeated, and smiled. "Only those who possess Lightwood blood can open the gate when it is locked."

When I had gotten past my initial astonishment, and the ghost had faded to nothing but a slight chill in the air, I glanced down at my hand and saw that the scratch Church had given me the previous night had started to bleed again—likely a side effect of clutching onto Xanthos's reins for so long. But I wasn't concerned about that; shaking my sleeve down over my hand, I pondered Barbara's words. How on earth could I have Lightwood blood, unless it was from a distant ancestor? I quickly ran over what little I knew of Dad's family tree in my mind: he, like me, had been born a Cartwright, and evidently his father—my grandfather—had been one as well; my grandmother, on the other hand, had been a Blackthorn before she'd married him. I knew little else about my grandparents aside from their names, and even less about my _great_ -grandparents. In fact, I only knew the first name of one of my great-grandmothers, and that was because I had been in part named after her. It was, I figured, entirely possible that one of them could have been a Lightwood and that had been where I'd inherited the blood. Jem had said, after all, that most Shadowhunter families were related if one went back far enough…

Still, no matter which way I looked at it, the notion that I was a descendant of Benedict Lightwood was quite alarming indeed.

"Miss, what are you doing here?" This voice was unfamiliar and I snapped out of my stupor immediately, my eyes focusing on a woman hurrying down the garden path. She was dressed in a maid's uniform and I could tell instantly that she was a mundane: no Marks decorated her skin and she was out of breath after only running a few paces. My entire body recoiled at the notion of Lightwoods having mundanes as servants; they would likely treat them as nothing better than animals. I thought of Charlotte and Sophie's steadfast friendship despite their many differences, and felt a rush of pity for this poor woman.

"I'm here to see Benedict Lightwood," I announced as soon as she came into earshot. "He wished to see me this morning."

The servant's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Did he?" she asked. "Who allowed you inside?"

"Nobody," I admitted, but quickly lied, "The gate was already open."

I had to give it to the servant; she was uncommonly sharp. Her expression told me that she didn't believe one word, but she seemed to assume that Benedict would have a more suitable way of dealing with it and so closed her mouth, silently beckoning me to follow her. I did, keeping my head down but unable to stop myself from peering through the gaps in the hedges to the gardens. They looked well-cultivated and decorative, a perfect picture of rural England in the middle of London. But more than once I caught a flash of metal out of the corner of my eye and tried to convince myself that it was merely a trick of the light, nothing more. After all, there couldn't really be _automatons_ walking around here, could there? Benedict was horrible, but not so horrible as to be conspiring with Mortmain.

At least that was what I tried to tell myself.

The mundane servant led me into a grand hall with a sweeping spiral staircase, polished mahogany floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows, but I barely noticed any of it: I now had the sickening feeling that I'd walked straight into a trap, and this had been exactly what Benedict had wanted. My momentary burst of bravado had disappeared, and now I wanted nothing more than to flee and not look back until I was at the Institute. But the opportunity for doing such a thing had long passed, and I could do nothing but attempt to stand up straighter, remembering how the _Codex_ lectured ad nauseam about the bravery of Shadowhunters and their refusal to back down even in the gravest of situations.

It still sounded like stupidity to me.

The Lightwood maid finally stopped in front of an arched wooden door and knocked quietly on it, nodding at me only when Benedict's "Enter" echoed faintly from behind it. I stalled for as long as I could, pretending to cough and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, hoping for some distraction to call the maid away so I could escape as inconspicuously as possible—but nothing occurred, and when I had checked once again to make sure my stele and seraph blade were still in my possession I opened the door, not sure what I was expecting to see.

Benedict's study—at least, that was what I assumed it was—was open and airy, the light from outside pouring into the room and illuminating his form sitting in the chair, like some sort of angel. The desk was completely bare, with not even a book or a paper adorning it, and aside from that the room was oddly empty of furniture. His eyes were resting on a point above my head, and judging by the loud tick that was echoing above my head, he had been staring at the clock.

"Abigail," he said without moving his gaze to meet mine. "I must admit, I did not think you would show up. I have been told you are…quite timid." The amused look in Benedict's eyes made it clear that he had been told something much less polite. "But I can see that I was mistaken. Sit." He nodded at the chair in front of desk, and I gingerly lowered myself onto it, not daring to say a word.

His eyes flicked up and down my form with a derisive amusement. "You dress as though you are prepared for battle," he said. "Did you run into a demon on the journey here?"

I didn't answer.

Benedict looked smug, with the air of a spider who knows its prey is entangled in its web. He steepled his fingers together and stared over the tips at me, his eyes alight with barely concealed malice. "I did not give instructions for the gate to be opened, but you managed to find your way inside anyway. Strange," he mused. "Only one with Lightwood blood may open it."

My mouth had gone very dry; I said, very quietly, "I was not aware of that…sir."

"I don't expect you were," Benedict sneered, before again changing the topic so abruptly that my head was left spinning. "My daughter Tatiana is returning to London in a matter of weeks. She is currently on honeymoon with her new husband. His name is Rupert Blackthorn. Perhaps that is a name familiar to you, Abigail."

Blackthorn was indeed a name familiar to me, and one I had been dreading he would say. My hands whitened on the arms of the chair as I stared up at my great-great-great grandfather. No matter how distant an ancestor he was, I still carried a small amount of his blood in my veins—and his blood, right now, was tainted with that of demons. Infernal blood.

Benedict didn't seem to care about the realizations that I was coming to, or my suspicious lack of answers; in fact, he seemed to be only paying attention to himself. "What did you say your parents' names were?" he asked. "You mentioned them last time we spoke, but I am afraid I have forgotten."

Now I was certain this was a trap. "Albert Cartwright and Estelle Townsend," I said, hoping that my voice wasn't as uneven as I feared it was.

Benedict chuckled, a noise that made me want to run out of the study screaming in terror. "Charlotte has lost her touch," he mused. "Surely anyone from the Clave, provided they do adequate research, can find instantly that neither of those people have ever existed. Then again, I _do_ suppose they are busy cleaning up after her messes…"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, jolted into anger by his insulting of Charlotte.

"I have a theory," said Benedict slowly, his eyes drilling into mine. Their dull color lacked the spark and fire that both Gideon and Gabriel possessed. "You are a descendant of a Lightwood—more specifically, a descendant of _me,_ as I am the only Lightwood patriarch living in England. Judging by your expression when I mentioned the Blackthorns, you are also a descendant of him and Tatiana. But that is not important—as I am sure you are aware, the more time passes, the more likely blood is to intermingle, especially in Shadowhunter families, and I would guess that you are related to most of today's Clave in some shape or form. No, blood is not the issue here.

"You, Abigail Cartwright, are from a century in the future, sent back by whatever abysmal invention the Nephilim of your time have made. You found your way to the London Institute, and dear Charlotte Branwell could not bear to cast you out, so she allowed you to stay and train as a Shadowhunter while her useless husband attempted to invent something to send you back, an outcome in which I would not put too much hope. Charlotte did not want to tell the Clave that you were from the future, in fear of ostracizing you and herself even more, as well as being hailed as a hero if you _did_ manage to return, and only telling the Clave the truth after the fact. She has told as little an amount of people as possible, since she knows that, should she be caught, her lie will expose her to the Clave and cause her to lose the Institute forever, as well as unforeseen consequences for you." Benedict shook his head, his wicked smirk never leaving his face. "My, my. What a mess we've gotten ourselves into, haven't we?"

I didn't ask him how he knew the truth, nor did I attempt to lie to him. Nothing I could say would convince him otherwise, even if Henry's bracelet _did_ work.I was sure that this was the real reason he had called me to Lightwood House; he would blackmail me, and unless I did as he asked he would, as he said, expose Charlotte to the Clave. He wanted the Institute at any cost, and here was a perfect opportunity for him.

"As I'm sure you are aware, these are the 'potentially disastrous' consequences I mentioned in my letter," Benedict continued. "The moment Charlotte Branwell is sent out of the Institute, I shall leave her and her husband to the mercy of the Clave. I expect they will be sent to Idris where they can do less harm. As for the others—your _stalwart protectors_ , Herondale and Carstairs…well, we'll just have to see, won't we? I shall not allow any foul vermin like William Herondale to live in the Institute. The boy ought to be cast out into the mundane world to see how difficult life truly is."

"You don't know Will," I muttered, jumping to his defense for reasons even I couldn't explain.

"Or," Benedict said, evidently savoring the moment, "How long dear James shall last on the streets of London without any of his _yin fen_ , nor any money to buy it with. I have heard it is quite a painful death—"

"You are not even a _tenth_ of the man Jem is," I snapped, my eyes flashing. I imagined picking up my chair and throwing it straight at Benedict's face. Rage was coursing through me, and I wanted nothing more than to expose the truth of his _demon pox_ to the Clave—a gesture which would certainly not give _him_ the Institute.

"Ah," Benedict said in a low voice; he hadn't reacted at all to my outburst. "So it is Carstairs, then. I would have expected any girl to choose Herondale, but I do suppose that he is rather preoccupied with Miss Gray. Tell me, how is she doing?"

"Why do you care?" I asked, throwing all previous reservations out the window. I no longer cared about being polite to Benedict. "It's none of your business—"

"Her brother was asking about her," Benedict answered lightly.

"Nate? How do you know where he is?" But the answer was all too clear to me already: Benedict was working for Mortmain. It was all so _obvious_ —his desire to run the Institute was likely fueled in part by Mortmain's orders, who in turn had probably promised a cure for demon pox or the like to him—and the automaton I had seen in the garden. But…if Mortmain was trying to capture Tessa, wouldn't Benedict have lured _her_ here, not me?

"Let's not bother with formalities anymore, _Abby_ ," Benedict said—he had evidently correctly guessed my train of thought. "The Magister knows you are from the future, and naturally wishes to glean some answers from you. If you do so, and truthfully, there is no need to expose Charlotte's lie, and I can promise that there shall no longer be spiders following you."

I froze. "How—how did you know...?"

"It was the idea of young Nathaniel Gray. When you were at the Pandemonium Club, he saw the Marks on your arm and knew instantly that you were a Shadowhunter. He might just be a mundane himself, but he is not unintelligent. He immediately sent the automatons after you. With you we can track the movements of everyone at the Institute. We thought that was all you were useful for—until the Magister and I received word about your past. He was, of course, deeply intrigued, and believes you have information that can be valuable to him. He can become the richest man in the world, all by inventions that you know about or placing bets at mundane events. And those who have been loyal to him shall share his riches."

"How do you know that I'm from the future?" I asked, but Benedict merely smirked.

"The Magister divulged the information to me. And I did not ask him how he obtained it. He has wanted to speak to you for a long time, Abigail. So much, in fact, that he has let his pursuit of Miss Gray fall by the wayside. She should be thanking you—you have bought her more time. He has tried to capture you once—by harnessing warlock magic to one of his automatons and unleashing it inside the Institute. It transported you to the Dark Sisters' house, but you arrived too late—Carstairs and Herondale had already gotten rid of them." Benedict's face twisted in anger, and part of me was relieved _that_ mystery, at least, had been solved—but I had much more pressing matters on my mind at the moment, like trying to stay alive.

"If I agree to speak to Mortmain," I said through gritted teeth, "Can you guarantee that I am going to leave alive?"

Benedict raised his eyebrows. "Of course I cannot guarantee that…but, if you want to save your friends, you will do as I say."

My jaw was clenched, my eyes narrowed as I leaned forward. I might be naïve, but I wasn't completely stupid; I would never have agreed to his demands. "You are going to expose Charlotte anyway. And the only reason the automatons won't follow me anymore is because I'll be dead. So, Mr Lightwood, I'm afraid I must refuse your offer." It was pointless, I knew, but I wasn't going to cave to his every demand. I was doomed anyway, so I might as well go out defiant.

Benedict did not look pleased at all; in fact, his eyes were cold and distant as he regarded me with the look of someone who was figuring out the best way to dispose of a particularly disgusting bug. "Very well, then," he said dispassionately. "I see you are _theirs_ through and through. It is a pity for you, however, that the outcome is the same either way. Your loyalty to the Branwells is admirable but futile. Take her," he called in a louder voice. The door burst open behind me as I stood up, whirling around to face the Lightwoods' maid. She strode in and grabbed me by the arm, yanking me out of the study with an iron-clad grip. My last sight of Benedict was of him lounging on his chair, a self-satisfied sneer upon his face, as the door clicked shut.

I tried to wrench my arm out of the maid's grasp as she pulled me down the corridor, her hold far too strong for a mundane. "Where are you taking me?" I asked, but she didn't answer me. I was beginning to harbor a terrible suspicion—one that was only confirmed when I dug my fingernails into her flesh. They didn't draw blood at all, but rather scraped across something cold and metallic.

With my free hand, I reached into my pocket and drew out my seraph blade, plunging it down hard on the clockwork girl's hand. She staggered backward but did not utter a sound, the blade embedded in the metal, before I grabbed the hilt and pulled it out of her hand. Flashbacks from the fight at de Quincey's suddenly flew back into my mind, and I remembered my murder of the vampire. Although both he and this automaton looked human, they weren't. Or so I tried to convince myself.

Spinning around on one heel, I tore off down the hallway, hearing her heavy footsteps already in pursuit. When I reached the main staircase, I vaulted off the railing, adrenaline rushing through my veins, and landed rather awkwardly on the floor below, but remembering my training with Jem managed to turn the fall into a roll. Slightly dizzy but steady on my feet, I sprinted toward the front doors, which were mercifully already open—

But the tantalizing glimpse of freedom didn't last long, as a tall shadow emerged from one of the ornate doors lining the foyer, and I skidded to a stop, staring in terror at the empty eye sockets of another clockwork creature. Before I could react, something cuffed me hard across the back of my head, and a blistering pain shot through my skull as I fell forward into darkness.

* * *

I came to on a freezing concrete floor, the taste of blood in my mouth and my head aching horribly. Cautiously, I reached up to pat the back of my head, running my fingers through my hair caked with blood, as I stumbled to my feet. I was sure I was underground, but I couldn't see a thing, much less walls or a door. I could be in a cavern for all I knew.

Even pulling out my seraph blade didn't help; its light was barely a pinprick in this vast darkness. After I'd inked several _iratzes_ onto my skin, half-blind, I began to hesitantly walk forward, my hands outstretched in front of me to feel for a wall.

And that was when I realized I wasn't alone. A high-pitched shriek sounded from the depths of the darkness, and I stopped short as the memory of that roar echoing across the desert sprang into my mind. The space was suddenly flooded with light, and I squinted against the blinding brightness at the Greater Demon that had been chasing me on the night I'd fled the motel.

And I was no more prepared for it now than I was then. My stele and seraph blade could do little against it, and I had no choice but to run in the opposite direction, hearing the thud of its many legs behind me.

"It will not harm you now," a cool, unfamiliar voice said from above me, but I didn't stop running until I'd reached the opposite wall, my hands braced flat out against the rock. A man was standing in the small pinprick of light that radiated from the opening behind the demon, but I had no way of getting past it. Mortmain himself was standing there, his sallow face alight with malevolence. "It obeys my orders. I am merely enjoying toying with you now, Abby. I feel that you are more likely to answer my questions here and now instead of a cozy fireside chat."

He continued to speak about how my knowledge of the future would come in handy to him, as well as my knowledge of the weak links in the Institute, but I was no longer listening to him: my eyes were only on the Greater Demon, which was slowly but surely advancing on me, and suddenly everything made sense.

This was the same demon that had attacked the Los Angeles Institute when I was two weeks old and killed my father and grandfather. Mortmain had placed some sort of spell on it that would continue to hunt down anyone who was related to me—therefore making _me_ the reason why Dad was dead, and that it would continue to hunt me long after Mortmain's own death. Even if I managed to kill it now, it would resurface back on Earth in 1962, just in time for it to go after my family. I was shaking madly as the demon extended one long, scaly leg towards me, brushing the toe of my boot. In pure, unadulterated instinct, I threw my seraph blade at it, and with an agonized howl its leg curled back up, black ichor staining the floor.

Unable to contain its rage, the Greater Demon launched itself at me, and I dove aside as I saw its mouths, all with foot-long, sharp fangs, coming straight at me. Mortmain yelled in anger, trying to call it off, but demons, much less Greater Demons, obeyed no one. I grabbed hold of the rock and pulled myself up using the indentations in the wall, seeing that there was a narrow ledge that circled the cavern—my only possible escape route. I wondered if Mortmain—or Benedict—often did this for sport; locking someone in here with a demon and seeing how long they lasted. Perhaps they even took bets. My stomach rolled at the thought.

The demon threw itself at me yet again, this time grabbing one of my feet and hanging on. I kicked helplessly out, but it was useless: one of its tentacles had wrapped around my waist, and the tips of my fingers were the only things tethering me to the ledge. Desperately, I brought my seraph blade down again, this time slicing one of the demon's tentacles right off. It recoiled back from me, but didn't loosen its grip on my waist.

My nails were digging so hard into the rock that they were beginning to snap off; my hands were slick with sweat and I was finding it difficult to hang on. I knew I had precious few seconds left before I lost my grip completely and tumbled down straight into one of the demon's mouths—

And then, just as I was about to kick it again, the tentacle strangling my upper body suddenly loosened, and I was able to clumsily clamber up onto the ledge—which was much narrower than I had originally guessed, and I was now dizzily high up but I had no time to dwell on that now—and stare down at the demon, brandishing my seraph blade as I braced myself against the wall. Shock rendered me temporarily frozen as my eyes landed on the ghost of Barbara Lightwood, who had somehow managed to distract the demon so that it was trying to attack her, not me—it kept swiping at her, but of course was unable to harm someone who was already dead. _I thought Greater Demons were supposed to be intelligent,_ I thought, panic suddenly kicking in again as I darted across the ledge, praying I wouldn't lose my balance.

But I wasn't fast enough: the demon, growing tired of its futile battle, turned back to me, a snarl already erupting from its depths. I ducked as one of its limbs smashed into the wall just above my head, sending shards of rock raining down into the cavern. My foot slipped, and I managed to catch myself just in time before I lost my balance completely. My hair had long fallen out of its braids, and I impatiently brushed it back behind my shoulders, my hands coming away red.

"Aim for its eyes!" I heard Barbara shout, and I turned back to her frantically. She was floating just above the demon, her white nightdress billowing around her like some sort of angel. An almost overpowering rush of gratitude swept through me, but I had no time to acknowledge it: the demon howled again and this time slammed one of its tentacles into the rock in front of me with all its strength, and this time the entire structure began to cave in on itself, a hundred-foot drop opening up feet from me.

I was running so fast that it was impossible for me to slow down at this point, and instead I channeled that energy into a different direction; I was running on pure instinct now, instinct that had lain dormant in me until I'd officially become a Shadowhunter, and I twisted my body to the side, leaping _off_ the ledge and directly onto the demon, landing squarely on the top of its head—or rather, head _s._ Its skin was hard and scaly, and I wasted no time in following Barbara's instructions, slamming my seraph blade squarely into all of its eyes that I could possibly reach, its cries of agony deafening.

Ichor was beginning to pour from the its wounds, and its body was slippery and wet under my feet as I hoisted myself back up onto the rock in fear that I would slide right off of the demon. I could sense that it was beginning to weaken; it was reeling backward now, but it would eventually recover itself unless I delivered the killing blow.

 _Watch your back, Abby,_ I heard Jem caution in my head, and I jumped behind a broken piece of rock as it threw itself at me, the blow shaking the very earth. My head smashed against the wall, but where I might once have screamed in pain and given up, I was more determined than ever to finish it, now that it was so close to death: I pulled myself to my feet, my ears ringing and my vision briefly turning white with the pain, and dove back, albeit much more awkwardly than the previous time, onto the demon, where I stabbed the blade straight into one of its empty sockets and twisted it down as far as I could, my arms aching with the strain.

With one last, dying shriek, the Greater Demon fell to the floor, and I rolled off of it just in time, landing hard on the ground just as it exploded in a mess of blood and ichor, the sound like a gunshot. My back crashed against the stone, knocking the wind out of me. It had been sent back to its own dimension, where it would be forced to stay there for decades. Some Greater Demons could languish there for thousands of years, or so said the _Codex,_ but I knew the exact date and exact time when this particular demon would arrive back on Earth.

When I was able to sit up, I looked over at Barbara Lightwood, who still had an apprehensive expression on her face as she stared past me, toward the entrance to the cavern. "Thank you," I gasped, unable to fully express the depths of my gratitude. "I would have been killed if you hadn't helped me."

She nodded once, acknowledging my appreciation, before saying, "I can distract Mortmain, but only for a moment. You must flee this place as quickly as you can. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I panted, and dragged myself to my feet, trying my hardest to ignore the complaints of my battered and bruised body. As soon as I got back to the Institute, I was going to have a very long bath, followed by a very long nap. Only when I had distanced myself from what I'd just gone through would I be able to speak to Charlotte about what had happened. I wasn't used enough to this life that I could just brush off a Greater Demon attack like it was nothing.

Far ahead of me, silhouetted in the light shining in from outside, Mortmain was walking at a fast clip toward me, shouting something in a strange language. I held out my seraph blade, still caked with ichor and blood, pointing it at him in a warning not to come any closer. But the gesture, as it turned out, wasn't needed: a rushing noise echoed through the cavern, like a gust of wind from a hurricane forcing its way through, and Mortmain stopped dead as he was forced to grip the wall for support, his coattails blowing wildly around him. Although he couldn't see Barbara, he could sense that something was strange, _wrong_ , and he fell to his knees, covering his head with his arms as the wind drove a storm of dirt and dust around him, shielding me from view.

I rushed forward at once, squinting against the gale-force winds that were ripping through the cavern with a howl like a demon. Keeping my eyes fixed on the now-visible entrance, which I could now see sloped upward, I flew past Mortmain and outside into safety, where I nearly collapsed on the grass with relief. I had emerged back onto the Lightwoods' property, this time in their back lawn, and when I turned backward the entrance to the cavern had completely disappeared; covered only now by grass. They must have used an extremely powerful glamour to hide it.

But I wasn't going to concern myself with the enormous cavern under Lightwood House; my luck would only hold for so long, and so, after a moment of calming down my wildly pounding heart, I fled the property, not even stopping when I'd thrown open the gate and ran across the road to where Xanthos was still tied to the tree. My hands were shaking madly as I climbed back onto the saddle and dug my heels into his sides, crouched low over his neck. We galloped wildly all the way to the Institute, and I didn't look back.

* * *

The second I slipped off Xanthos's back, safely back in the stable, my legs buckled under me and I barely managed to stumble outside, my hands braced against my knees as I retched—luckily my stomach was empty. I was beyond the point of caring who saw me like this now.

My legs felt like jelly when I finally drag myself into the Institute, having to lean against the wall for support. I knew I looked terrible and was probably dripping blood and ichor all over the floor. The adrenaline had worn off and now I just felt numb, as if my brain was still trying to process what had happened to me.

Somehow I managed to reach my room without collapsing, and fell down onto my bed, my face buried in the pillows. The darkness was a welcome relief, and I wasn't sure how long I lay there, trying not to think of anything, before I finally drifted off to sleep, my dreams full of dread and fear.

* * *

When I opened my eyes, the room was much darker and my body was, somehow, sorer than it had been before. I was still exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to just fall back asleep, but I didn't want Sophie to walk in and question what had happened. I would tell Charlotte first thing tomorrow, I decided. It was likely that she already suspected that Benedict was secretly working with Mortmain, but I didn't know if she suspected they were _that_ entwined with each other.

Still dazed, I filled the tub with the hottest water I could find and stepped into it, the water instantly relaxing my muscles. Now I could see what damage the demon had done—aside from being covered in cuts and scratches, some of which were still bleeding, none of them seemed to be too deep, and my skin looked like one enormous purple bruise. I didn't seem to be grievously injured, though, and for that I was indebted to Barbara Lightwood. I would have been dead if it wasn't for her.

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the side of the tub and watched the room grow steadily darker as the sun set. The beautiful day had given way to a cooler night, leaves racing outside the window and the wind wailing against the side of the Institute. I wondered idly if there was going to be a storm.

The water had begun to grow cooler and I was just deciding whether I should get out when there was a soft knock at my door. I sat up immediately, hoping that Sophie had brought me a new dress for tomorrow—but my heart dropped when I heard Jem's soft voice ask, "Abby?"

 _Damn it,_ I thought, ridiculously flustered, as I pulled myself out of the tub and reached for my dressing-gown—the closest thing I had to clothes at the moment—before tying it around myself and opening the door, peering out into the corridor where Jem and Tessa were standing. Both were fully dressed, Jem in his fighting gear and Tessa in a periwinkle blue dress. Jem's eyes noticeably widened as he took in my appearance, and he blushed madly, staring down at his feet.

Water dripped from the ends of my hair and ran in little rivulets down my neck, disappearing into my robe. I could tell he was trying very hard not to stare, and he began to stutter before a luckily much more composed Tessa announced, "We are going to find Will and wondered if you wish to join us."

"Will," I mused, and leaned my head against the side of the door. I had almost completely forgotten about his disappearance.

In my mind's eye, I saw Barbara Lightwood's mournful face; the flash of automaton metal in the gardens; Benedict's ugly sneer; the glowing red eyes of the Greater Demon…for a moment I swayed on my feet, dangerously close to passing out.

But then I thought of Will, and the few times he had showed me kindness, and the terrible sadness that I often saw buried deep within his expression…and Tessa's earnest, hopeful face, and Jem's bright silver eyes…"Yes, I'll go," I said. The words scraped painfully against the back of my throat, but I didn't flinch. "I'll go," I repeated, as if trying to reaffirm to myself that this was what I truly wanted. I was slightly displeased that I was only realizing that I did care for Will now, and that I thought of him as, however distantly, a friend.

Jem looked as flustered as I did, and I was relieved when Tessa led him downstairs, telling me that they would be waiting in the carriage. I stole back into my room and dressed as quickly as I could, in the most uncomplicated dress I owned, and was left to hope that the knots would hold. Not wanting to keep Jem and Tessa waiting any longer, I pulled my hair up into a bun and ran some water over my still-filthy seraph blade before I hurried into the corridor, down the long, winding staircase and into the entryway. The Institute was quiet; the witchlight in the torches were burning low and even the shadows were still.

But the night, however, was not. The wind whipped my dress around my legs as I made my way through the courtyard to where the carriage stood, Cyril waiting with Balios and Xanthos—the latter luckily did not seem the worse for wear after today's ordeal. He smiled at me and helped me up into the carriage, where I slid into the seat next to Jem. Tessa sat primly across from us, her hands folded in her lap and her eyebrows knitted together in worry. The carriage jerked to life and we started forward; I had absolutely no idea where Cyril was taking us, but I trusted them enough not to ask.

I caught my reflection out of the corner of my eye in the darkened window, and I had to look twice: it was like I was an entirely different person. I knew that my time in the past had changed me, but the process had been so gradual and slow that I had barely noticed it. Now it was as if everything about me had suddenly shifted around, and although I was still recognizable, my features still the same, I was _altered._ I'd lost a good deal of weight, I carried myself differently—standing up straighter and with more confidence in my walk—and my eyes looked tired, haunted, as if I'd been through a war. It was the look of a soldier who had just returned from the battlefield.

"Is something bothering you, Abby?" Tessa asked, and I glanced over at her, startled. For a moment I considered telling them about Benedict, the demon and Mortmain…it would make me feel better, and I wanted to get it off my chest…but on the other hand, they were already worried enough about Will. They didn't need to hear about my day on top of that.

"No," I told them, smiling as genuinely as I could. "I'm perfectly fine."

* * *

Will couldn't have chosen a more rundown, derelict area in London to stay; the back alley we emerged in was grimy and overrun, the streets lined with beggars and prostitutes. I swallowed back bile as I staggered out of the carriage, selfishly glad that the glamour shielded me from mundanes' eyes. If the Clave _really_ wanted to be useful to the world, they would turn their attention to London itself, to save the mundanes from themselves. Sometimes earthly problems were more destructive than demons.

A beggar girl, dressed in tattered rags and hardly older than I was, looked up with dead eyes as I passed her, as if she could sense my presence. Biting my lip, I reached into the folds of my dress and took out a handful of coins that I'd originally intended to buy a pastry with the next time I was out on a walk with Jem, and poured them all into her lap.

Tessa and Jem were already standing at the back steps of a Downworlder club (the only term I could think of to label it) when I rejoined them. A warlock woman wearing a tightfitting red dress was glaring at them and shaking her head. "No," she ordered. "No Nephilim." She began to close the door in Jem's face, but his cane shot out and held it open, the blade at the tip almost threatening.

"No trouble," he said in a firm voice. As always, his manner of taking control was far less subtle than Will's, but just as effective in its own way. "We're not here for the Clave. It's personal. We're looking for someone. A friend. Take us to him, and we won't bother you further."

Now understanding dawned on her face, and a slow smile curved across her crimson lips. "I know who you're looking for. There's only one of your kind here," she drawled, and beckoned us inside. I followed after Jem and Tessa, wondering why they had decided to invite me along, as they appeared to be doing quite a magnificent job of it themselves. As usual, Abby was the third wheel—but I forced myself to push back the bitter thoughts this time.

We were led through a dark, narrow hallway that smelled of sweat intermixed with magic, and then appeared in a dim, smoky room that reminded me strongly of the Pandemonium Club: all manner of vampires, werewolves, warlocks, and hundreds of other Downworlders prowled about the place, some playing cards and others gathered in little groups against the wall; I tore my eyes away from a warlock with a long, forked tail wrapped around a vampire woman's waist as they kissed. The air was heavy with the sickly sweet smell that often clung on to Jem, and I knew instinctively where he got his _yin fen,_ an assumption that was only confirmed a moment later when he swallowed hard and said, "This is where Will comes to buy the—to buy what I need. Although why he would be here now…"

"Is this an opium den?" Tessa asked, her voice hushed even though it was unlikely anyone in the room would pay her any attention. _She's a Downworlder herself,_ I thought, and wondered what she thought of the entire scenario.

Jem shook his head. "No. Not really—mostly demon drugs and faerie powders. Those men at the table, they're ifrits. Warlocks without powers." His eyes were locked on the female warlock who had let us inside. She was bent low over the ifrits, whispering something in their ears before sashaying back over to us, her eyes greedy as she regarded Jem.

"Madran says we have what you want, silver boy. No need for pretense." She reached out and drew one long finger across Jem's face. I resisted the urge to shove her away from him.

"I told you, we're here for a friend," Jem said, and a hidden part of me was savagely relieved that he sounded unsettled. "A Nephilim. Blue eyes, black hair—"

The warlock laughed. "You are foolish. There is little of the _yin fen_ left, and when it is gone, you will die. We struggle to obtain more, but lately the demand—"

"Spare us your attempts to sell your merchandise," Tessa said, and I sensed annoyance building in Jem, his disgust of the place warring with his desire to find Will. "Where is our friend?"

"There," the warlock finally told us, pointing at a row of beds along the far wall, and with a dismissive glance at Tessa and I, she made her way back to the ifrits, where her advances were certainly better received.

Jem and Tessa went over to Will immediately, who, I saw, was lying prone in one of the beds, his shirt open at the chest and his face as flushed as Jem's was during his worst fevers. I paused feet from the bed, feeling a pang of sympathy for him despite myself.

"Jem," Tessa was saying desperately as she knelt down beside Will. "Jem, we must get him out of here." But Jem didn't answer; he was staring down at his _parabatai,_ his face peculiarly blank. I couldn't read him at all; and I could feel fear beginning to creep up on me again—a different kind of fear than the one I had faced earlier today, but one that was just as damaging in its own right.

" _Jem!_ Please. Help me get him on his feet." she said again, and shot me a panicked look. I tentatively touched his shoulder, but he didn't move; didn't respond in any way.

"James?" I asked him, hoping that his full name would snap him out of it, but it was like talking to a statue.

" _Will,"_ Tessa begged, now shaking the other boy's arm. "Will, wake up, _please._ "

I chewed the inside of my cheek in agitation. Jem had never been this—this unresponsive before. Quite frankly, it scared me. _"Jian!"_ I said sharply, using his Chinese name, and my heart dropped as he looked once at me with eyes that seemed just as lifeless as the beggar girl's had been outside in the alley, and then back at Will.

"If you do not help me," Tessa was saying, thankfully seeing that I had made progress, "I swear, I will Change into you, and I will lift him myself. And then everyone here will see what you look like in a dress. Do you understand?"

"Do you?" he asked flatly, but reached out and grabbed one of Will's arms. Tessa took the other, but she was obviously struggling under the weight—they hadn't taken more than a few steps before she began to wince.

"Here," I told her, and grabbed the end of his arm—it was still heavy, but at least Tessa wasn't struggling like before, and she gave me an appreciative look as we started forward.

"Let me go—" Will spluttered, his bright blue eyes opening as he tried to pull away. But neither of us moved, and he looked over at me with some surprise. "Oh, good. The four of us, together again."

"Shut up," Jem snapped, and I looked worriedly over at him; but his face was completely blank and expressionless. He didn't meet my gaze—in fact, he was behaving as if I wasn't there at all.

"Listen, Carstairs, you haven't any of the needful on you, have you? I'd stump up, but I'm flat out." Will gave an exaggerated shrug, and I groaned as his dead weight pressed even harder into my shoulders.

Tessa and I exchanged a baffled glance. _"What_ did he say?" she asked.

"He wants me to pay for his drugs," Jem explained. His voice, like his eyes, was hard. "Come. We'll get him to the carriage, and I'll come back with the money."

I was by far the shortest of the group, and I was nearly bent double as we hobbled out of the drug den, feeling everyone's eyes on us as we passed. I gladly released him the second we stepped back outside, which was a cool breath of fresh air after the stifling heat.

"Is he all right, then?" Cyril asked as he helped Jem shove Will into the carriage.

"Let me go," Will was complaining, his dark hair soaked with sweat. "Let me go. I can stand."

"Can you?" I asked as he fell against the side of the carriage when Cyril loosened his grip. He scowled at me, but his eyes weren't quite focused.

"You did not have to come and fetch me like some child," continued Will, now moving his gaze to Jem and Tessa. "I was having quite a pleasant time."

Jem stepped forward, and the expression on his face was so coldly furious that, for the very first time, I was afraid of him. "God damn you," he said, his voice eerily calm, and hit Will across the face. The crack echoed through the alleyway, and I was gripping Tessa's wrist so tightly that I was sure she was losing circulation, but both of us were too busy staring open-mouthed at Jem to notice.

"Get him into the carriage," he said under his breath to Cyril.

"James?" Will asked, and he sounded so much like a lost little boy that my heart went out to him. His eyes were wide, as if the slap had finally brought him back to his senses. Jem turned and strode back toward the door, his hair glowing in the moonlight.

"Jem!" I called brokenly, but he didn't turn back. I tried to follow him, but Tessa caught me by the hand, shaking her head slightly. "Don't, Abby," she said. Her face was full of pity.

"Come along, then," Cyril said, even his cheerful manner muted for a moment, and hauled Will up into the carriage. Tessa and I clambered in after him, and I shut the door behind us. Cyril handed her a cool cloth, and she pressed it to Will's forehead as he leaned into her.

"I've made a mess of things. Haven't I?" he asked. Tessa's lips were pursed as she regarded him, and the moment was somehow so powerful that I had to look away.

"Dreadfully, I'm afraid," she replied, wiping the cloth across his face.

"I'm so tired, Tess," he murmured, and the rawness in his voice only intensified the feeling that I was ruining a private moment. "I only wanted pleasant dreams for once."

"That is not the way to get them, Will," Tessa said, sensible as always. "You cannot buy or drug or dream your way out of pain."

"Tessa," I began after a long silence, tracing a shape on the glass with my fingers, "Why—why did you bring me along?"

She turned toward me, raising her eyebrows. "It was Jem's idea," she answered; no more explanation was needed. "I did not wish to leave you out of it."

"Well, you should have," I said, all my resentment spilling over. "Will hates me, so I'm about as useless as—"

"I don't hate you, Abby," Will interrupted, and the honesty in his voice was so rare that I somehow believed him. "I've never hated you."

"Then why—" I began, but never got to finish my question, for the carriage door opened and Jem climbed back in; I noticed that he sat as far away from me as possible.

"Cyril, drive home," he ordered, and the carriage rumbled to life again.

Nobody spoke for the remainder of the trip.

* * *

When the horses pulled up in front of the Institute, I hastened to scramble out of the carriage and ran after Jem, but by the time I emerged inside he was already gone. Tessa was right behind me, her face the picture of anguish as she stopped next to me.

"Go take care of Will," I urged her, knowing that she was exactly what he needed at the moment. "I'll find Jem."

I had never seen Tessa look more relieved; she thanked me profusely before hurrying off down the corridor, her hair falling out of its plaits but not paying attention to them. I watched her disappear, crossing my fingers that she would be able to talk some sense into Will, before turning to face the staircase, apprehension beginning to worm its way into my stomach at the thought of finding Jem now. I had never seen him like this before—so stoic and—not _cold_ , but disconcertingly emotionless. There had been no light behind his eyes during the duration of the carriage ride.

My exhaustion at the day's events had, miraculously, all but vanished as I took the stairs two at a time, the torches flaring up as I passed them. I checked the music room first, but it was empty—followed by the library, infirmary, training-room, and attic—but Jem was nowhere to be found. It was only when I was descending the stairs from the attic that I heard it: a shrill, piercing screech, like someone was being tortured—or like someone was playing a violin with broken strings.

I burst into Jem's room without knocking—he was on his knees on the floor, his bow dragging across the violin strings with such ferocity that one of them had snapped off. The noise was assaulting my ears, sending a shudder through me. _"Jem!"_ I shouted, and when this did nothing I dropped to my knees beside him, grabbing his wrists and trying to wrest the instrument out of them. He suddenly went limp, allowing me to grab the violin and place it out of reach before I crawled back over to him. His eyes were as wild as Will's had been; his jaw clenched in suppressed rage. "There is no point to it, Abby," he almost snarled, and I drew back from him, alarmed.

"No point to what?" I asked, now wondering if it had been advisable for me to close the door—was this a side-effect of the drug?

"To anything," Jem snapped; there were spots of red high on his cheekbones, but it was from anger rather than embarrassment. "To the violin breaking. To rescuing Will. To even taking the _yin fen_ —I'll be dead within a year anyway."

"What? No," I gasped, appalled. "What are you talking about? Of course there is! You can't leave everyone here like that, most of all Will. He needs you, Jem—"

"Does he?" Jem asked bitterly. "Perhaps he is only using me as an excuse to go to those drug dens. Perhaps I should not have put so much faith in him. Perhaps I was wrong, Abby. I have spent years believing that he is good at heart, that he is just running from some terrible pain, but…perhaps I was wrong. What if he is not worth it?"

"Jem, no," I tried to convince him, some part of me astonished that I was standing up for Will, the boy I had once hated more than any other. But Jem's voice had cracked as he had said those last words, and my heart had cracked along with them. "Will cares for _you_ more than anyone else. But it is not you he was thinking of when he went to that drug den."

"I _know_ , Abby," Jem almost groaned, his fingers digging into his palms. I had never seen him lose control so utterly like this. "For years, Will was the only purpose to my life. And then I met you, and I fell in love, and I thought that maybe I could find happiness in a way I had never dared to dream of. But now I look at you and I know that you don't deserve me—you deserve to go back to your own time and find a better man than me, one who is healthy and does not have a time limit on his life. Someone who is not an addict."

"Jem Carstairs," I said firmly, and took both of his hands in mine. "Firstly, you are the best man I have ever met, and the best man I will _ever_ meet. Secondly, the 'time limit' doesn't matter to me. I have a time limit too, remember? And unless I bring you back to 1978 and we find a cure there, we don't have the luxury of forever. The first moment you spoke to me was the moment I gave up any notions of ever being with anybody _but_ you." This time I took the initiative and leaned forward—Jem met me halfway, and his mouth was rough against mine as he tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling out the pins and letting them clatter to the floor. The memory of the Greater Demon and Benedict Lightwood's icy eyes appeared at the forefront of my brain, but I pushed them back. Today had wrought some sort of irreversible change in me, all my previous inhibitions vanished, and now I wanted nothing more than to live in the moment instead of worrying about the future or dwelling on the past. Knowing that I or Jem could die any day was all the more reason to live _now_ , taking risks before opportunities were lost to me forever.

This frenzied display of passion was like nothing I had ever experienced—neither Jem nor I were being gentle in the least now, and now I was kissing his jaw, the sweat on his skin blending into mine and our hearts pounding a twin rhythm so I could no longer tell who was who. But it wasn't close enough.

Our mouths clashed together again, and I was pushing him against the side of the bed, his strong arms pulling me to him with a force that was almost painful. I ran my tongue across his lips, my mouth working against his in ways I had never even considered before, and he made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that sounded like my name. Everything melted away from me but _Jem,_ and the feel of his body against mine, his lips against my lips, his hands in my hair and mine on his shoulders…

And, just like that, we stopped, pausing for a moment to control our breathing. I slumped against him, seeing his wide pupils and flushed face, color that had now spread down his throat. His top button had come undone, and in a rare display of recklessness I kissed the visible edge of the _parabatai_ rune on his upper arm.

" _Wo ai ni,"_ he whispered against my skin. _I love you._

My grip tightened on his arms, and I raised my head to look him in the eye. "Soon?" I asked uncertainly, unsure what he wanted.

" _Now,"_ he nearly growled, and my heart stopped as he cupped my chin with his hand, kissing me so deeply I thought I would faint. Our mouths never parted as he pulled us up onto the bed, and I kicked my shoes off impatiently as he pressed me into the blankets, barely registering the thud they made on the floor. I was so intoxicated with desire and love that I felt dizzy. The room spun around me—everything except for Jem, who was the only thing anchoring me. I gravitated toward him like a star, my hands running up and down his sides as I learned where he liked to be touched and what made him shiver in pleasure.

He ducked his head, his lips dancing across the my jaw and then down my neck to kiss the scar on my shoulder that I'd had for as long as I could remember, his hair brushing against my throat. I bit his ear, very gently, and couldn't help but giggle as his breath hitched, coming unevenly against my skin.

While I still had the nerve, I unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away from him, his skin warm and smooth against mine. I traced the pattern of the Marks on his skin, the scars that were interlaced there, and he began to protest; to apologize for his appearance: but I silenced him by kissing him yet again, his mouth easily molding into mine, yielding to me.

Jem's hands had snaked around to my back, and he was pulling apart the knots that bound my dress together; I sat up slightly to make it easier for him and wrapped my legs around his, tangling us together even further. I had never been so grateful that I had no idea how to tie a dress properly, and it easily fell away from my body.

His touch was setting my veins alight and rushing through them like fire, reaching into parts of my soul that I had never known existed. He was finding parts of me that I hadn't even realized I'd lost, and I didn't need to speak to him to know that he was experiencing the same thing—his eyes were answer enough. All thoughts of danger and of death were completely gone with every brush of our mouths, of our fingers, and I closed my eyes, trying to capture the moment forever. At some point we managed to get rid of my corset and his trousers, and I paused for just a moment, placing my finger to his lips, wanting to draw the anticipation out for as long as I could. "Abby," Jem murmured hoarsely, resting his forehead against mine. I smiled lovingly at him and then pulled his face down to mine again as I kissed him, knowing that we were finally bound to each other in every way possible.


	24. Twenty-Four

**I** awakened slowly, a distant part of my brain wondering vaguely why I was so relaxed and comfortable. My bed wasn't usually this cozy, or this warm.

I shifted slightly in the blankets and froze when my fingers brushed across the shape of someone's lips. I rolled over and propped myself up on my elbow, realizing that the gloomy, dim surroundings wasn't my room at all, and I was lying in bed with _Jem_ , our clothes scattered across the floor.

The memory of yesterday—and last night—immediately flashed back to me, and I bit my lip to keep from swearing aloud, my face already burning. I had really done all that with Jem—it wasn't a dream like I had believed it was when I'd briefly awoken in the early hours of the morning—and now I was embarrassed, knowing that I had completely let go of any inhibitions I may have had. I wondered if I would ever be able to look him in the eye again.

When he woke up, would he be disgusted with me? Would he be disgusted with _himself_ for allowing such a thing to happen? We had both been in altered states: he with his despair and anger at Will and his condition; me about my encounter with the Greater Demon and Mortmain. Had it only occurred, then, because we had been channeling our emotions into another outlet? I remembered Jem growling _"Now"_ as his mouth had come crashing down on mine, with a ferocity that stunned me. It hadn't been like Jem at all—or at least how I pictured Jem as being. In the grand scheme of things, I barely knew him. We had only known each other for, what? A month and a half? Two months? So much had happened in these past weeks that time seemed irrelevant now.

But even so…

Part of me was wildly pleased with what we had done, and I knew I would always remember the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body, the rhythm of his heart, the sound of his gasps. If I gave him an experience that he had believed he would never have, could I truly regret that? Could I regret the way I had clung onto him like I had been trapped at sea and he was my only anchor; the way we had collapsed against each other afterwards and fallen asleep in each other's embrace; or the way that, just for one night, nothing else had been important to me but Jem?

No. I couldn't.

But there were consequences to every action, and I knew that our bond had only strengthened; that with every time I kissed him or pulled him close, every time I said his name, I was falling deeper and deeper in love with him, and it would be increasingly more difficult to leave him when the time came—or when he had to leave me, and that time our parting would be permanent.

And then, the most frightening consequence of all: what if I became _pregnant?_ I wasn't sure what methods of contraception Victorian Shadowhunters had available, but I was certain that we hadn't used any of them.

My heart immediately jumped to a speed that was almost painful. I knew the chances weren't very likely that I would have to worry about it, especially if we were more careful in the future, but…what if I did? What if I was pregnant with Jem's child? If I ever got back to my own time, how would I explain _that_ one to my mother? And what if it inherited his addiction? My own parents had been unusually young when I was born, but at least they'd been eighteen and married. I was sixteen and _knew_ that I wouldn't be able to stay with Jem forever.

 _Well,_ I thought grimly, _I suppose I'll find out the answer within the next few months._ I looked down at Jem, sleeping peacefully in the tangle of blankets, his arms still stretched out toward me. The outline of countless Marks covered his body, but where I might once have found the notion unattractive, I now thought they made him even more beautiful. I remembered him whispering phrases in Mandarin in my ear just as I'd been drifting off to sleep, and I longed to know what they had meant. He still looked flushed and sweaty even now, but this time it had absolutely nothing to do with his illness. I hoped that, at some point, he had finally seen himself through my eyes, and realized just how extraordinary he truly was.

I leaned over him, my hair just brushing his chest, and pressed my lips to the hollow at the base of his ear. _"Wo ai ni,"_ I whispered, and his arms unconsciously tightened around me. I was about to kiss him again when there was the quiet but unmistakeable sound of footsteps in the corridor, and I heard the sound of my bedroom door being opened.

The lazy, untarnished bubble that had seemed to envelop Jem's room for the past twelve hours had suddenly burst, and the real world came rushing back in. As noiselessly as I could, I rolled off the bed and stood up, walking somewhat unsteadily to where my dress lay on the floor, a few feet from Jem's shirt. My body was sore, my arms and legs aching, but I couldn't tell whether it was due to the events of the previous night or my encounter at Lightwood House.

Now my mind was racing just as fast as my heart: I pulled the dress on, not even bothering to lace up the back, and glanced one more time over at Jem. He hadn't so much as stirred, and I didn't want to disturb him: I supposed a good sleep was very rare for him, as Sophie had once confessed to me that he often awoke coughing in the middle of the night.

I padded over to the door and opened it very slowly, sticking my head out into the corridor and seeing it was deserted except for my bedroom door, which was wide open. Biting my lip resolutely, I shut Jem's door behind me and walked over to my room, unsure what I would find. Had I slept longer than I thought and Sophie was waiting to get me ready? Did Tessa want to speak to me? What if Benedict had sent Gabriel or Gideon to spy on me? I silently cursed myself for not having my seraph blade with me in case I needed it; I should have waited until I heard them leave before I did anything.

But when I stopped in the doorway to my room, it wasn't Sophie, or Tessa, or even Will that I was met with: it was _Jessamine,_ leaning over my purse and riffling through my father's journal.

I was struck with a rush of anger that I hadn't even felt when I had found Will reading it. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, walking over to her and snatching it out of her grasp. "That's private."

Jessamine looked at me in some surprise that was quickly masked by contempt. "I see your training has come in handy," she sneered. "Two weeks ago you wouldn't even have been able to look me in the eye."

"What do you want?" I repeated, enunciating every word as clearly as I could and resisting the urge to forcibly shove her out. I clutched my purse to me as if it was a lifeline, despite the fact that I felt slightly guilty for not having looked at it in a long time.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Jessamine sniffed, and when I continued to glare at her, she sighed theatrically and said, "Well, if you _insist_ on beingnosy—"

"Nosy?" I cried. _"You're_ the one in my room."

"—Then I'll have you know that Henry asked me to fetch you. He says he needs one of your possessions, probably for his ridiculous new invention, and when it became clear to me that you had spent the night in Jem's bed, I decided to look for something myself." Jessamine looked very triumphant indeed as I immediately blushed ten shades of scarlet.

"You have no proof that I spent the night there," I tried to argue pathetically, but Jessamine waved away my feeble attempt at denying it.

"Don't waste your breath, Abby. I know what a woman looks like when she has been with a man. Your bed isn't slept in, the fireplace is cold, and you came running in here with a half-buttoned dress and horrid hair. Do you think I haven't noticed the way you two stare at each other? Like you're going to be tragically separated any second. It's quite sickening, really." She scoffed, crossing her arms. "I suppose Jem _does_ want to fit in as many experiences as possible before he dies, which is likely to be soon—"

"Jessamine," I said as quietly as I could, my voice shaking in anger. "Please leave. I need to get dressed."

She smirked, her blonde hair shimmering like gold in the weak light. "Don't you have something to give to Henry?"

I reached into the folds of my dress and drew out a bobby pin, which, I noticed, was broken; Jem must have snapped it when he had been running his hands through my hair. Pushing back the flood of memories that was sure to accompany such a recollection, I held it out to Jessamine. "Here. If that's not good enough, tell him he can ask me for something else himself."

The other girl looked most displeased, and narrowed her eyes at me before snatching the pin from my hands and stalking out of the room. I let out the breath I wasn't even aware I had been holding and leaned against the bedpost, letting my purse drop to the ground.

* * *

"I suppose you all know by now that I went to an opium den last night," Will was saying when I walked into the dining-room, feeling marginally more presentable after putting on a new dress and brushing my hair. I irrationally wondered if the others could tell what I had done with Jem; as if some sort of mark had magically appeared on my clothes, like Hester Prynne in _The Scarlet Letter._

But I wasn't even spared a second glance as I slid into the seat next to Tessa; everyone seemed subdued and exhausted, as if the stress of trying to locate Mortmain was finally beginning to catch up with them. Jem was the only one absent, and I had no idea whether I was supposed to feel relieved or disappointed by this fact.

I opened my mouth to tell them about my visit to Benedict Lightwood the day before, unsure how I would gauge their reactions when I told them that I had managed to destroy a Greater Demon, when Will interrupted yet again.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, looking disappointed that nobody had paid attention to his earlier statement. "I said I went to an opium den last night."

"No," Charlotte replied, glancing up at Will from behind her reading glasses. "That undoubtedly glorious aspect of your recent activities was unknown to us, in fact."

"So is that where you've been all this time?" Jessamine asked; just the sound of her voice was enough to make my eyes narrow in resentment. "Are you quite a hopeless addict now? They say it only takes one or two doses."

"It wasn't really an _opium_ den," Tessa objected. "That is to say—they seemed to have more of a trade in magic powders and things like that."

"So perhaps not an opium den precisely, but still a den. Of vice!" Will slammed his fist down on the table and I jumped, my fork clattering to my plate. Jessamine smirked across the room at me.

Charlotte sighed, folding up her glasses and setting them on the table as she gave him a disapproving look. "Oh, dear, not one of those places that's run by ifrits. Really, Will—"

"Exactly one of those places," another voice said from the doorway. My heart stuttered for a brief moment before kicking into overdrive. I stared blindly down at my plate as Jem walked into the room and took a seat next to Will, as far away from me as possible. My face was burning and my hands were trembling in my lap. I didn't—couldn't—look at Jem. "Off Whitechapel High Street."

"And how do you and Tessa know so much about it?" asked Jessamine; she appeared to be unusually talkative.

"I used a tracking spell to find Will last night," Jem explained. Now I was sure that my discomfort was written all over my face. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn't look directly at him. I felt ridiculous. I must look like an immature child. "I was growing concerned at his absence. I thought he might have forgotten the way back to the Institute."

"You worry too much," Jessamine said, and for a moment I thought she was talking to me. "It's silly."

"You're quite right," Jem answered in a level tone. "I won't make that mistake again. As it turned out, Will wasn't in need of my assistance at all."

Was he still angry with Will? I hadn't thought to ask him…then again, there hadn't been much talking going on when I'd had the chance. I reached for my tea and took a long sip, my stomach twisting itself into little knots. Maybe I was the one making a bigger deal out of this than it really was. Maybe nothing about our relationship had changed in Jem's opinion. Maybe—

Tessa accidentally knocked against me with her elbow as she passed the plate of eggs to Henry, scattering my train of thought. She quickly apologized, but I barely heard her: I wanted so badly to look at Jem, but I _couldn't_ , not when I could feel Jessamine staring condescendingly at me, likely yearning for a new bit of gossip.

"Was there really a need to bring Tessa with you to Whitechapel?" Charlotte was asking Jem. Although her tone wasn't as stern as it had been when she'd been lecturing Will, there was nevertheless a hint of reproach to her voice.

But before Jem or Tessa could answer, Will pointed at me, his sharp blue eyes boring into mine. I finally looked up and steadily met his gaze, noticing that there was a black ring around his eye where Jem had hit him. "Abby was there too," he said, but his eyebrows had drawn together slightly. He turned to Jem, still frowning as if trying to remember a dream that had occurred long ago. "Wasn't she?"

"Abby?" Charlotte asked, but I didn't answer her—Jem was now looking directly at me too, and I could see the previous night written in his eyes. Faint spots of red had appeared on his high cheekbones, and my lips parted slightly as a rush of sensation flew back to the forefront of my mind.

Our gazes hung suspended over the table for what felt like hours, but was likely only several seconds, and I knew, in that moment, I had never seen another person's soul laid so completely and utterly bare. It was both a silent acknowledgement of what we had done, as well as a painful uncertainty of what we were supposed to do now. And I wasn't able to look at Jem normally any longer.

I broke the spell first, swallowing hard, and regarded Charlotte evenly. "Yes," I said. "I did go to Whitechapel."

"Why would you do that?" Jessamine asked derisively. "It's not as if you would be much help. You wouldn't even be able to fight off a werewolf, let alone a demon—"

I'd had enough; I couldn't stand their stares any longer. I didn't want anybody looking at me. "Actually," I declared, "You might find yourself wrong about that." I pushed my chair back from the table and stood up, leaving the dining-room without another word. I would just have to tell Charlotte about Benedict Lightwood when she was alone. It was doubtful that Jessamine or Will would believe me if I said anything in front of _them._

 _I don't hate you, Abby,_ Will had said, half-unconscious and under the influence of drugs. _I've never hated you._ But how was I supposed to know whether he was being truthful or not, no matter how honest and raw he had sounded? I knew that he _could_ care for people; love them even—Jem and Tessa being the prime examples—but there was no way to tell whether that extended to me.

Without even consciously realizing where I was going, I found myself standing in the courtyard at the front of the Institute. It was a grey, cloudy day, thick fog enveloping the city and creeping down the streets, giving even the most ordinary objects a sinister quality. I wasn't worried about Mortmain or his automatons catching me; even he wouldn't dare to abduct me in daylight amongst a throng of mundanes, glamoured or not. They would still be able to hear my screams, even if they weren't able to see me. Besides, Tessa was still his first priority, and if he hadn't attempted to capture _her_ during the numerous times she'd been out in London…

I ducked my head and stepped out into the street, immediately losing myself in the crowd of people surging down the road. I wasn't glamoured, and although several men stared at me sideways, likely wondering why I didn't have a chaperone, I was largely ignored.

I paused when the brown, murky water of the Thames came into view, remembering the night I had arrived in 1878 and leapt into the river—partly to escape Will and Jem, but partly because I'd still been convinced I was in a dream and doing such a thing would wake me up. A tiny smile crossed my face as I recalled it; perhaps I had always been braver than I imagined. No, I didn't have the sharp tongue of Jessie, nor the guarded steeliness of Tessa, but I had stood up for myself when it had mattered most, and shouldn't that count for something?

When I reached Blackfriars Bridge, I leaned against the side of the railing and stared back in the direction I had come, watching the passersby hurry past and recalling the day when Jem had first taken me here and told me that he would never marry. My grip tightened on the cold stone, and I grimaced, knowing that the words must ring truer than ever to him now. If I was honest with myself, I had come here to think and get away from the noise and bustle of the Institute, as well as try to figure out why Jem liked this bridge so much. Perhaps he was able to feel at peace here, but I certainly wasn't.

A figure with silvery hair had emerged from the crowd, and at first I dismissed it as merely a figment of my imagination, or wishful thinking, but as it drew closer I turned away from the balustrade and stared at him. "Jem?" I asked in disbelief as he stopped shyly in front of me. The mundanes walking past gave me strange looks, as he was glamoured and I was not, but I paid them no attention.

He was smiling at me, but it was a strained smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I did not think you would be here, Abby," he said; he was keeping a careful distance between us that tore at my heart.

I exhaled and tried to return his cautious smile. So he hadn't been looking for me as I had hoped. "It wasn't a conscious decision," I admitted, and his smile faltered. "Jem," I began awkwardly. "I just—"

"Please don't," he burst out, and a pained expression crossed his face. "I know that you must regret what happened between us last night, so you do not have to feign politeness. If you wish to act as if it never occurred…" He trailed off, and I could tell how difficult this conversation was for him, like every word was a knife digging deeper into him.

"Jem, how could you think I regret what happened?" I asked softly. "I was thinking that you were the one to regret it, as you were— _we_ were both in such…altered states, but I certainly do not. It was…it was the best night of my life. I cannot regret something like that."

Hope was beginning to spark in his eyes. "When I awoke, you had disappeared, and you would not even look at me at breakfast. I feared that you wished to erase what we had done."

"No," I said firmly, and took a step toward him, clasping his hands in both of mine. "No, I do not wish to ever forget that, James. It was my own foolishness and fear that _you_ were ashamed. In fact, I…" I stuttered over my next words, speaking before I thought. "I wish all of my nights were spent like that."

Jem's eyes widened, and now I could see that his face was flushed, his hand tightening on the head of his cane. "I would not object to that scenario," he said, stammering a bit in his uncertainty to speak so boldly, and this time my answering smile was genuine. I pulled him to me, and his glamour bled over into me, shielding us both from view. My back was pressed against the balustrade, and one of his arms wrapped around my waist while the other hand wound his fingers around mine.

Jem lightly pressed his lips to mine, and the kiss was short and brief and sweet, hesitant even with the knowledge that we were hidden. "Isn't this dreadfully improper?" I asked him when he drew back, his breath fanning across my face. I noticed that he did not taste like _yin fen_ anymore, but the thought only rested vaguely in the back of my mind.

"You are speaking like one of us now," he murmured against my lips, and this time we were both smiling when we kissed again. It was true, though: I realized that my speech _was_ steadily sounding more and more old-fashioned, and I was even becoming concerned about kissing on a bridge. At this rate, I would be completely unrecognizable when I arrived home.

Thinking of _home_ made a small but vocal part of my brain nastily remind me that perhaps memories _wouldn't_ be all I would take home, and I took a step back from Jem, still keeping my hand in his but looking up at him unhappily. I took a deep breath, praying to Raziel that he would give me the strength to broach the topic, and slowly began, "There is…there is something else that bothering me, Jem. I'm not sure of the proper way to word this, but what if an unforeseen consequence arises?"

He frowned, seeming confused. "An unforeseen consequence?" he echoed. "Do you mean that you feel pressured to tell everyone about us? If that is the case, Abby, then please know that I am willing to tell the others at any time—"

I shook my head. "No, it's not that," I said, and I thought I saw his face fall slightly. But I was already barrelling down this road, and I couldn't turn back now. "I'm talking about a child, Jem. What if I become pregnant?"

Jem visibly paled, all the color draining out of his face; he obviously hadn't considered such an occurrence. I could see the ramifications slowly beginning to dawn on him. "The Silent Brothers can tell," he said, but his tone was strangled.

"Now? Already?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up.

"Yes. As soon as we get back to the Institute I'll ask Charlotte to call on them—" Jem was now gripping my hand so tightly I could feel the blood leaving it, but I didn't pull away.

"What will I tell her?" I interjected. "That I injured myself? I don't want to lie…"

"You won't have to," he said firmly. "I am due for a visit from them anyway. Charlotte insists that they check on me from time to time, and now seems as good an occasion as ever."

"You don't have to do that," I told him. "I can think of something else."

But Jem was adamant. "It is no trouble, Abby," he insisted, and with a jolt of concern I wondered if his pallor and tired eyes pointed to something more than just stress.

"Jem, are you all right?" I asked him, turning over his wrist and staring at the blue veins threading their way across his arm like ink bleeding onto parchment.

"I am fine," he said steadfastly. But I was still troubled, and his face softened as he reached up one hand to stroke my jaw. "Please do not worry about me."

But it was impossible not to. Although he had slept peacefully during the night, purple circles ringed his eyes and he was clearly favoring his cane. When had he last taken some of the drug?

Just as I was about to ask, Jem slid his hand from my jaw down to my throat, where a dark bruise was visible on my collarbone, partially hidden by my dress. "Abby," he said suddenly, concern lacing his voice. "What happened?"

It was left over from when I had slipped and fallen trying to climb the cavern wall, and now that it had been brought to my attention I realized that it was sore and tender to the touch. It likely wouldn't have been visible in the dark shadows the night before, and even if he had noticed I would have likely drawn Jem's attention away from it or claimed it was just part of the sensory overload.

"I…I fought a demon," I admitted, trying to turn my head away from him, but Jem grabbed my chin and made me face him, his long fingers gently brushing the injury. His frown deepened when he saw the identical bruise higher up, just behind my ear.

"Look at me," he said quietly, and I reluctantly met his eyes, which were full of worry. "Why were you fighting a demon?"

The truth finally spilled from my lips: the note from Gideon, my trip to Lightwood House, what Barbara had told me, the truth about the clockwork spiders, and my desperate battle with the Greater Demon. I was dimly pleased at how relieved I felt, sharing the secret with someone else. I told Jem everything—everything except the fact that Benedict Lightwood was my ancestor. I was ashamed of that, and although what he'd told me was probably true—that I was distantly related to most of the Clave—I didn't want everyone to look at me differently, as if my blood was tainted. Then again, everyone aside from Will appeared to tolerate Gideon and Gabriel, and Sophie certainly liked Gideon well enough…

Jem's expression was stunned—there was really no other word for it—by the time I was finished. He let his hand drop from my face, his mouth hanging open. "Have you told Charlotte?" he finally asked when he appeared to have gotten his voice back.

I shook my head.

His eyebrows creased together in worry. "You must, Abby," Jem said at once, his silvery eyes regarding me with a mixture of anxiety and awe. "This is crucial information—Mortmain is after you as well as Tessa, and now Benedict knows you are from the future. Raziel, how on earth did he find out?"

"I don't know," I said anxiously. "He was lording the fact over my head. I expect he's going to use it to blackmail me. I'd be sent into exile—or worse—if the Clave finds out."

Jem was shaking his head, although he didn't seem to be aware of the movement. "Not many Shadowhunters can claim that they took on a Greater Demon single-handedly. You are exceptionally brave, Abby."

"It was all due to your training," I told him. "If it hadn't been for you and Barbara, I would have been dead."

Jem leaned his forehead against mine; he was still staring at me as if he were a blind man seeing the sun for the very first time. I had never been looked at like this before, and was certain I never would be again. "You are the most extraordinary person I have ever known, Abby Cartwright," he whispered into my hair.

I grinned ruefully. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

He held me close for another moment before pulling away and regarding me with clear, determined eyes. "Come. We must get you back to the Institute and inform Charlotte about the changed situation. It is the safest place for you now."

I reluctantly nodded, allowing him to take my arm as we set off down the bridge, resting my head against his shoulder as we walked, invisible, through the streets of London.

* * *

"But why would Benedict ally himself with _Mortmain?"_ Charlotte asked wearily. She was pacing around the darkened drawing-room, nearly wearing a hole in the carpet. Jem had offered to stay with me, but I had politely declined his offer, seeing how exhausted he looked. Now he was most likely patching things up with Will, who had apparently accompanied Tessa and Sophie to their training session with the Lightwoods and who had vexed Gabriel so much that he had stormed out of the Institute and refused to return. I couldn't help but be curious what he would tell Benedict; at any rate, I hoped that Gideon would return, not only because of Sophie, but so that I could thank him for his warning. I truly did not believe that he would betray me to his father. Gabriel, on the other hand…

"I don't know," I told her, not entirely truthfully. Barbara had said that Benedict had contracted demon pox, and I'd assumed Mortmain had a cure for it and was using that to lure Benedict—but according to everyone else, demon pox didn't exist, or at least there had never been any conclusive proof of it, and there was always the slim chance Barbara had been lying. The more I'd thought about it, the more I'd doubted it, and I knew that Charlotte wouldn't believe me if I told her. It was much more logical to assume that Mortmain had promised Benedict the Institute if he assisted him. "Charlotte, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have gone to Lightwood House without telling anyone. It was my own fault—"

"Please do not blame yourself, Abby," she told me decisively. "We cannot turn back time now, and you did manage to escape unscathed as well as provide valuable information. I do not think you will be tempted to do such a thing again."

Her words didn't alleviate my guilt, though—I knew that I was being used as bait for her, and my appearance had only made her life worse. Perhaps if I was a better liar, I would have been able to convince him that I wasn't worth concentrating on. I had tried to help, and my efforts had very nearly made things worse. "I just…I'm sorry," I said again. "I know I am causing more harm than help—"

Charlotte immediately shook her head. She stopped pacing and regarded me with her brown eyes, her small form fierce. "Abby," she said, "You have not been at the Institute for very long, but I care for you as I care for Will, Jem, Tessa, and Jessamine. Please don't think that you are causing more harm than help, because that is most certainly not true. You have showed extreme bravery and courage when facing Benedict and that Greater Demon, and are as worthy a Shadowhunter as any. If the Clave were to know of this—"

But she didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, for there was a knock at the study door. Charlotte strode over and opened it at once to reveal the tall, parchment-robed figure of Brother Enoch. It was a mark of how intimidating the Silent Brothers were that I still felt uncomfortable at their appearance, even though I couldn't see Enoch's face.

 _Charlotte,_ he told her. _Your James Carstairs is holding on, as his spirit is strong, but he is running out of yin fen. He is resting now, and should be recovered by tomorrow, but it would be wise to obtain some more of the drug for him._

Charlotte, pale though steely, nodded. "Thank you, Brother Enoch," she said, and followed him out of the room. Remembering myself too late, I rushed after them, wanting to ask Enoch about examining me, but they had both disappeared.

"God," I groaned, leaning against the wall and pulling off my gloves. I knew that I shouldn't be worrying about a baby, but both Jem's and my situations were unique. On the tiny chance that I _was_ pregnant, or would become pregnant, I wanted to know as soon as possible.

Still, Brother Enoch's words echoed in my head, and I knew I was more worried about Jem over anything that could happen to me. I hurried up the staircase and to his room, seeing that the door was ajar.

"Jem?" I asked softly as I pushed it open, drawing back when I saw that Will was leaning over his bed, looking stricken. He straightened up at my approach, and I watched his features dissolve into a flippant, coldly amused expression as easily if he had pulled on a mask.

"Afternoon, future girl," he said, and my teeth clenched at the words. He was even harsher than usual, and I wondered if it had something to do with his loss of control the night before. "As I'm sure you can tell—or maybe you cannot, judging by your presence—Jem is ill today, and—"

"Will, stop it," Jem chided weakly from the bed, and my heart turned over at the sight of him, ashen and silvery, almost blending into the blankets. He had deteriorated rapidly even from when we'd been on Blackfriars Bridge hours before. "Abby, please come in."

"And you neglected to please ask me to leave," Will muttered. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and brushed past me, his blue eyes burning into mine with an unfathomable expression before he had disappeared, making a show of closing the door behind him.

"I gather he has recovered from his brief stint in Whitechapel?" I asked weakly. At least he hadn't directly insulted me.

"He has gone to get some more of the drug." Jem leaned his head back against the pillows, and I sat down, trying unsuccessfully not to be reminded of the memories from when I had last been on it. "Have you told Charlotte?"

"Yes. She believes that I should, as she put it, _exercise more caution_ from now on, but Will never listens to her, so why should I?" I gave him a half-grin, but Jem wasn't smiling.

"She is right, you know," he pointed out gravely. "With the clockwork spiders still following you and Mortmain's pursuit, the safest place for you is here at the Institute."

"Jem, the safest place for me is my own _time,"_ I cried—I had expected this reaction from him, of thinking I had to be protected at all times now that he knew Benedict and Mortmain were after me. "Staying in the Institute isn't going to do me any good. I've proven that I can fight now."

He froze, his eyes searching my face as if looking for what the correct response should be. "And is that what you want? For a renewed search into building a Portal? Do you…" He visibly swallowed, his jaw working and a pulse beating in his throat. "Do you _want_ to leave?"

"No," was my first response, but we both knew it was a lie. I sighed, and searched for the most diplomatic answer. "Jem, my…my heart is still tied to the future. I miss my mother, and my house, and the few friends that I had, and everything about the time period…but I love London, and the Institute, and the people living in it. Especially you." I placed my hands on either side of his face, willing him to understand. "If there was some way I could take everything back with me…"

"What if there was a way?" Jem asked, his voice cracking. "What if I went back with you?"

Shocked, I sat up straighter and stared open-mouthed at him. "I would not— _could_ not—do that to you, Jem. You belong here, in this time and this place. You would not be able to properly live without Will, and unfortunately I doubt that a cure has been found, even a century later."

Jem's expression was unreadable. "You will leave when Henry creates a Portal, then."

I hesitated, trying to discern his motivations. He had suddenly closed himself off, in a manner not dissimilar to what Will often did. I supposed a few of his habits had to rub off on Jem eventually. "No. I don't think so. Not right away, at least. I'm going to stay with you until…until…"

"Until I die," Jem said, almost thoughtfully. He abruptly looked away from me, staring at the ceiling. "Then you will not feel obligated to stay here any longer."

"Jem—"

But he wasn't expecting empty reassurances. "Abby," he said hoarsely, "I want to give you something." He reached into the folds of his waistcoat and pulled out a jade pendant inscribed with a Chinese symbol, letting it dangle in the air for a moment before holding it out to me, his expression hopeful. "It was a bridal gift from my father to my mother. The writing is from the I Ching—the Book of Changes. It means _when two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze."_

I stared at him. "Jem, I can't possibly—this is a family heirloom—"

"You are part of my family now," he said, his eyes soft. "Just as I shall always carry my parents in my heart, I shall always carry you and Will in my heart. _Wo ai ni."_ With slightly shaking hands, he pressed it into my hand. I lifted it to my throat and clasped it around my neck. The jade was cool against my skin as it settled there, and I saw his eyes glow in delight.

"Jem," I whispered, taking his hand and kissing each of his fingers, "I wish I had something to give you in return. I could—I could give you my father's journal—"

"No, Abby," he said. "The journal is safer with you. Just as it is a reminder of your father, I hope the pendant will serve as a reminder of me when you look upon your own world. I would much rather think of it with you."

"Oh, Jem," I whispered, and leaned toward him. He gently pulled the back of my neck down to his as he kissed me, and I could already feel my body aligning itself with his, our mouths moving in perfect synchronization.

But he suddenly drew back, coughing, and I could only stare at him in horror. His hands were red when he took them away. "It is nothing to worry about," he tried to soothe me. "I often have these…episodes. It will pass."

But I could never completely banish the thought that one day the episode _wouldn't_ completely pass. I watched as he closed his eyes, our hands still clasped, and kept a careful watch on his chest, each breath feeling like it was connected to mine, and that if his heart were to stop, mine would as well.

* * *

"So it was Jessamine, then," I said, my voice flat and emotionless. Everyone, minus Will, was gathered in the drawing-room, where Charlotte had informed us that Tessa, disguised as Jessamine, and Will had gone to Lightwood House the previous night and spoken to Nate, where Benedict had held a Downworlder party. Nate had pretended to be married to her so he could gain information about the Institute and his residents. "She was the one who betrayed us to Nate, who in turn told Mortmain. She is the reason that Benedict Lightwood knows I am from the future." _That's why I saw her in my room yesterday. She must have been ordered by Nate to spy on me. Not to mention her statement that Henry wanted a possession of mine was a lie._

"Jessamine. _Our_ Jessamine?" Henry asked. He sounded bewildered, as if he couldn't quite grasp the concept.

"Yes. Jessamine," Charlotte said. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, her face white. "She has been spying on us and reporting our every move to Nate, who has been passing the information to Mortmain. Must I say it again?"

Henry looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, darling. I have been listening. It is only that—I knew she was unhappy here. But I did not think Jessamine hated us."

"I don't think she did—or does." Jem spoke up from where he was leaning against the mantel, next to the clock. Although he was moving slower than usual, he was visibly better than he had been the day before, and it had made the iron fist around my heart relax a bit in relief. "I don't think she hates us. She has always been someone so full of _wanting._ She has always been so desperate."

"It is my fault," Charlotte said, ducking her head. "I should not have tried to force being a Shadowhunter upon her when it was something she so clearly despised."

"No. No!" Henry argued, trying his best to comfort his wife. He put a hand on her shoulder. "You were never anything but kind to her. You did everything you could. There are some mechanisms that are so—so broken that they cannot be repaired."

"Jessamine is not a watch, Henry," Charlotte replied without looking at him. "Perhaps I should just parcel up the Institute with a bow and give it to Benedict Lightwood. This is the second time that we have had a spy under our roof and not known about it until significant damage was done. Clearly I am incompetent."

"In a way it was really just the one spy," Henry pointed out, but everyone ignored him.

"If Benedict Lightwood is working for Mortmain, he cannot be allowed to have custody of the Institute," Tessa said quietly. She hadn't spoken much, but there was a hard edge to her tone. "In fact, the ball he threw last night ought to be enough to disqualify him, let alone what he did to Abby."

When the others had learned about my trip to Lightwood House, their reactions had ranged from shock (Tessa and Henry) to outright disbelief (mostly Will). But I thought I had caught a flash of admiration in his eyes even while he had made one of his usual snarky comments, and I had felt very smug indeed.

"The problem will be proving it," Jem was saying, bringing my attention back to the conversation at hand. "Benedict will deny everything, and it will be his word against yours—and you are a Downworlder. Perhaps if Abby—"

"My evidence will be useless," I said dully. "He told me as much. If it turns out to be my word against his, the Clave will look deeper into my past and find nothing. Benedict has complete control over me."

"There's Will," Charlotte pointed out. "Speaking of, where _is_ Will?"

Jem sighed. "Having a lie-in, no doubt, and as for him being a witness, well, everyone thinks Will is a lunatic as it is—"

"Ah, having your annual everyone-thinks-Will-is-a-lunatic meeting, are you?" I hadn't even noticed he was standing at the door until he spoke, his piercing eyes surveying the room and landing on Tessa, as usual. . I noticed that she was pointedly avoiding Will's gaze, and wondered if something had happened between them.

"It's biannual," Jem said, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. "And no, this is not that meeting."

Will took a step forward. "They know about Jessamine?"

"Yes, they know all about Jessamine," Tessa said hurriedly. "She was questioned with the Mortal Sword and taken to the Silent City, and right now we're having a meeting about what to do next, and it's dreadfully important. Charlotte's very upset. Well, you _are,"_ she added in response to Charlotte's questioning glance. "And you were asking for Will—"

"And here I am," he drawled, holding out his arms and dropping into an armchair. "Glad to hear Jessamine's in the Silent City. Best place for her. What's the next step?"

" _That's_ the meeting we were trying to have," Jem said exasperatedly.

"Well, who knows she's there?"

"Just us, and Brother Enoch, but he's agreed not to inform the Clave for another day or so," Charlotte explained. "Until we decide what to do. Which reminds me, I have some choice words for you, Will, haring off to Benedict Lightwood's without informing me, and dragging Tessa with you."

"There was no time to lose," argued Will; everyone's heads were moving back and forth between him and Charlotte like we were at a tennis match. "By the time we'd have roused you and made you agree to the plan, Nathaniel could have been and gone. And you can't say it was a dreadful idea. We've learned a great deal about Nathaniel and Benedict Lightwood—"

"—Information that I was already aware from Abby." Charlotte fixed him with a pointed stare. "Besides, Nathaniel Gray and Benedict Lightwood aren't Mortmain."

"Mortmain is the spider at the heart of the web," Will said, leaning forward. He seemed almost agitated, and as intent as I had ever seen him. "The more we learn, the more we know how far his reach extends. Before last night, we had no clue he had any connection to Lightwood—"

"—Except for me," I interrupted.

"Fine, aside from Abby." Will gave me a disparaging look. "Now we know the man is his puppet. I say we go to the Clave and report Benedict and Jessamine. Let Wayland take care of them. See what Benedict spills under the Mortal Sword."

"No, I—I don't think we can do that." Charlotte had gone very still.

"Why not?"

"Jessamine said it was exactly what Mortmain wanted us to do. And she said it under the influence of the Mortal Sword. She wasn't lying."

"But she could have been _wrong_ ," protested Will. "Mortmain could have foreseen just this circumstance and have had Nate plant the thought in her head for us to discover."

"D'you think he would have thought ahead like that?" Henry said doubtfully.

"Assuredly. The man's a strategist. Like me." Will grinned, arrogance oozing off him, and I turned away, slightly disgusted. What on earth did Tessa see in him, anyway?

"So you think we should go to the Clave?" Jem asked.

"Bloody hell, no." Will scoffed. "What if it is the truth? Then we'll feel like right fools."

"But you said—"

"I know what I _said._ But you have to look at consequences. If we go to the Clave and we're wrong, then we've played into Mortmain's hands. We still have a few days before the deadline is up. Going to the Clave early gains us nothing. If we investigate, and we can proceed on a surer footing…"

"And how do you propose to investigate?" asked Tessa.

"The problem with questioning Jessamine is that even when forced to tell the truth, there is a limit to her knowledge." Will was now watching Tessa with such intensity that I wondered how she didn't burst into flames on the spot. She blushed, but didn't back down; I unconsciously reached for Jem's jade pendant, still hanging around my neck, and knew exactly how she felt. "We do, however, have one more connection to the Magister. Someone who is likely to know a great deal more. That is your brother, Nate, through Jessamine. He still trusts her. If she summons him to a meeting, then we will be able to capture him there."

"Jessamine would never agree to do it," Charlotte interjected. "Not now—"

"You _are_ all in lather, aren't you?" Will asked in disbelief. "Of course she wouldn't. We will be asking Tessa to reprise her starring role as Jessamine, A Traitorous Young Lady of Fashion."

"That sounds dangerous for Tessa," Jem interjected. Where this statement might once have made me unreasonably jealous, it now amused me: trust Jem to think of everyone's welfare first and foremost.

"Tessa is fearless," Will answered, his words ringing clearly throughout the room. "And there will be little danger to her. We will send him a note arranging a meeting in a place where we might fall upon him easily and immediately. The Silent Brothers can torture him until he gives up the information that we need."

"Torture?" Jem echoed. "This is Tessa's brother—"

"Torture him," she said firmly. Her face was set, her eyes hard. "If that is what is necessary. I give you my permission."

"You can't mean that—" Charlotte began.

But Tessa was resolute. "You said there was a way to dig through his mind for secrets. I asked you not to do that, and you didn't. I thank you for that, but I will not hold you to that promise. Dig through his mind if you must. There is more to all of this for me than there is for you, you know. For you this is about the Institute and the safety of Shadowhunters. I care about those things too, Charlotte. But Nate—he is working with Mortmain. Mortmain, who wants to trap me and use me, and for what we still do not know. Mortmain, who may know _what I am._ Nate told Jessamine my father was a demon and my mother was a Shadowhunter—"

"That's impossible," Will said, without rancor. "Shadowhunters and demons—they cannot procreate. They cannot produce living offspring."

"Then maybe it was a lie, like the lie about Mortmain being in Idris. That doesn't mean _Mortmain_ doesn't know the truth. I must know what I am. If nothing else, I believe it is the key to why he wants me." Her flush at Will's gaze had given way to paleness now, but she remained calm.

"Very well," said Jem; I caught a glimpse of pity in his eyes. "Will, how do you propose we lure him to a meeting? Don't you think he knows Jessamine's handwriting? Isn't it likely they have some secret signal between them?"

"Jessamine must be convinced to help us."

Jem was adamant. "Please don't suggest we torture her. The Mortal Sword has already been used. She has told us all she can—"

"The Mortal Sword did not give us their meeting places or any codes or any pet names they might have used. Don't you understand?" Will barked, slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair. "This is Jessamine's last chance. Her last chance to cooperate. To get leniency from the Clave. To be forgiven. Even if Charlotte keeps the Institute, do you think they will leave Jessamine's fate in our hands? No, it will be left to the Consul and the Inquisitor. And they will not be kind. If she does this for us, it could mean her life."

"I am not sure she cares about her life," Tessa objected, her expression unreadable.

"Everyone cares. Everyone wants to live," said Will. Jem turned away, his eyes downcast, and I fought the urge to walk over to him and shield him from the world, to reassure him that there was still hope. But I knew I couldn't; no one aside from Tessa and Will knew the depth of our relationship, and I suspected now was not a good time to reveal it.

"The question is, who can we send to persuade her?" Charlotte asked, and there was real desperation in her voice. "I cannot go. She hates and blames me most of all."

"I could go," Henry offered. "I could perhaps reason with the poor girl, speak with her of the folly of young love, how swiftly it fades in the face of life's harsh reality—"

"No," Charlotte, Tessa and I said in unison.

"Well, I highly doubt she wishes to see me," Will added sarcastically. "It will have to be Jem. He's impossible to hate. Even that devil cat likes him."

Jem was quiet for another moment before raising his head and meeting my eyes across the room. "I will go to the Silent City," he agreed. "But Abby should come with me."

I understood his motivations at once: I would surely get the chance to be examined by the Silent Brothers there, despite the fact that I had absolutely no idea what to say to Jessamine. Avoiding the others' questioning gazes, I nodded. "All right," I said. "I will go with Jem."


	25. Twenty-Five

**T** he decision had been made: with a determined expression on her face, Charlotte went to call the Silent Brothers; Henry went back to his laboratory; Will stalked out of the room without a backward glance while Tessa stayed where she was, staring after him; and Jem abandoned his post by the mantelpiece to walk over to me. "Are you prepared to leave, Abby?" he asked me quietly; just the sound of his voice, the timbre of it, made me shiver despite having heard it hundreds of times before.

I nodded, hoping that I could lure myself into a false sense of optimism. "Yes, I…I think so."

Jem scrutinized my face for another moment before his eyes briefly dropped down to where the jade pendant was gleaming against the pale skin of my throat. Something stirred in the depths of his expression and his hand started to reach up as if he wanted to brush a loose strand of hair from my neck, but he quickly turned away, seeming to remember Tessa, and made his way towards the open door. I started to follow him, but a small hand grabbed my wrist, holding me back.

"Abby," Tessa said; her grey eyes were wider than usual—with concern for myself or Jem, I wasn't sure—and her lips pursed. "You must convince Jessamine that Nate does not love her. He is just using her for his own ends. Please take it from me—I have known him his entire life. He cares for no one but himself."

My mouth was dry, and it took a great effort for me to reply, "Thank you, Tessa. I will remember that."

She released my hand, but her expression was still creased in worry. "Good luck, Abby," she told me, and with a small, tight smile I followed Jem from the room, leaving Tessa watching us as she had watched Will depart, with the feeling that she hadn't said all she wanted to.

* * *

The carriage that was sent to take us to the Silent City was enormous, twice the size of the Lightwoods' carriage and pulled by horses that were the color of ink. A Silent Brother sat in the driver's seat; he didn't turn to look at us as Jem helped me up inside.

Neither of us spoke as the carriage rumbled to life and began its journey through the city; I watched in astonishment as it passed through pedestrians and buildings as if they were smoke. The rain was pouring down in sheets now, but the carriage remained completely dry, untouched by the storm.

I heard Jem laugh softly, and I turned back to him, wide-eyed. He was sitting close to me, our legs nearly brushing, but it wasn't close enough for me. I snuggled into him as I had the night we returned from de Quincey's, my head resting against his shoulder. Had that only been three weeks ago? It felt like years.

"I'm scared," I confessed to him, unable to meet his eyes. "The Silent Brothers…they frighten me. What if they don't let us see Jessamine?"

Jem rubbed my back soothingly, pressing a kiss to my temple and tilting my chin back up to face him. "They will. We are of the Institute, and we have a reason for visiting her. They are not unreasonable."

"It must be lonely," I mused, staring up into his kind silver eyes. "Never being able to speak, forced to stay in the Silent City unless you are called upon…it's not like…not like Downworlder immortality, where you can roam the world as freely as you like."

"Yes," Jem agreed. "Although I do not believe they _feel_ as we do. The runes they undertake strip away most, if not all, of their humanity. It is not a light decision to make."

"My father…" I paused, about to say _My father trusted a Silent Brother once,_ but before I could get the words out the carriage jerked to a halt. I peered out the window, seeing the Houses of Parliament starkly illuminated against the rain on one side and the Thames on the other. Were we going to go straight into the river? I glanced over at Jem, alarmed, but he just squeezed my hand and nodded to the front of the carriage. There was so much more I wanted to ask him—how would the Silent Brothers examine me? What was I supposed to say to Jessamine? But I found that I couldn't speak as a stifling blackness suddenly opened up in front of us, swallowing the carriage entirely and bathing us in complete darkness. Jem's hand was calming in mine as I blinked rapidly, my eyes trying to adjust—and all of a sudden light flooded the carriage, although it was still dim. I couldn't help but wonder where the Silent City was—if it was under the Thames, in Idris, or a different place entirely.

"You would have been here before," Jem murmured into my ear. "A Silent Brother would have been present for the protection ceremony on you as an infant, even if your mother chose to keep you hidden from the Shadow World."

I nodded numbly, staring around at the place we'd found ourselves in. It was a circular, high-ceilinged room, with torches burning on the walls and the floor made out of black basalt. I saw a long table placed at the front of the room, runes I wasn't familiar with carved into the walls, and numerous stars were etched onto the floor. Hanging above the long table was the Mortal Sword, shiny even in the shadowy light.

The carriage doors slowly creaked open of their own accord, and somewhat hesitantly I climbed down and stepped out into the Silent City, freezing for a moment in shock.

It had the air of a very, very old church or sacred building, so that I had the urge to speak only in hushed tones, and the silence was deafening, as if it was pressing down onto my eardrums. Everything was so utterly _still_ yet grand, the pillars carved out of marble and smooth white stone, that I felt as if I had just stepped into a holy place, and that I wasn't fit to even be tainting the air with my presence. The overall atmosphere was very daunting, and I wanted to run back into Jem's arms again.

But that wasn't why I was speechless.

I had been here before; seen these very runes on the walls and the stars marked on the floor. I had dreamt of this place, of my father bloodstained and covered in dirt, kneeling on the floor at Brother Zachariah's feet, his blond hair sweeping the ground. Would he be proud if he knew that I was cowering at something so simple, when he himself had tried to fight a Greater Demon as a mundane?

I was a Shadowhunter now, and I had to be fearless. I couldn't let Charlotte down now. With as much courage as I could muster, I turned to the row of Silent Brothers who had come to meet us. It was impossible to tell them apart from one another, with their hoods pulled up to shadow their faces. I wondered if Brother Zachariah was among them, and what exactly he had done to earn my father's trust. He was one of the few mentioned in Dad's journal, aside from his family and Marcus, and I had often questioned who he was. Maybe, when I got back to 1978, I would be able to ask him. There were still so many questions about my father that I wanted answered.

 _Welcome to the Silent City, Abigail Cartwright._ I recognized the voice of Brother Enoch, and watched as he drifted forward noiselessly, like a ghost, to the front of the group.

"We wish to speak to Jessamine Lovelace," I said in a voice that I hoped sounded braver than I felt. "But first…I would like to know if I am…" I sucked in a sharp breath and half-glanced over at Jem, who had walked over to me as soundlessly as Enoch had and was now standing just behind me, his breath tickling the back of my neck. "Ill." Perhaps it wasn't precisely the correct wording, but I didn't want to ask the real question outright.

 _In what way?_ Enoch asked, and I mentally sighed. "The other day I was attacked by a Greater Demon. I would like to be certain that I have not sustained any injuries."

"And I," Jem said, stepping forward, "Wish to view the records of a particular Shadowhunter. I believe it may help in the Institute's pursuit of Mortmain."

Enoch turned to the Brothers standing behind him. _Very well. I will bring Abigail to the Ossuarium. Brother Micah will show James to the archives._

I looked over at Jem and frowned, wondering what Shadowhunter he wanted to research, but he just smiled at me and surreptitiously reached over to gently stroke the inside of my wrist; somehow the touch was just as intimate as a kiss. Another Silent Brother, Micah, had appeared beside Enoch—his face was much less scarred and his eyes weren't as mutilated. I guessed he must have been younger, or at least turned into a Silent Brother more recently. Jem let go of my hand to walk over to Micah, and I hurried after Enoch, through a pair of wide double doors over which the Mortal Sword hung.

I didn't dare to speak aloud as he led me into an adjoining room, this one painted a stark white. There were at least fifty metal slabs laid out in front of us, on most of which lay a misshapen figure concealed by a blanket the color of the Brothers' robes. I gulped as I realized that this must be the morgue; the bodies of the dead Nephilim here were being examined before they were burned. I averted my eyes, trying very hard not to think about the fact that, someday, Jem would be one of these very bodies, as would I.

"Was it…was it really necessary to bring me through there?" I asked Enoch when we were thankfully free of the Ossuarium, into a smaller but still whitewashed room with naught but an examination table and a shelf filled with metal instruments. He didn't answer me, only pushed his hood back slightly so I could see his stitched mouth and the blank, empty sockets where his eyes should have been.

 _Lie down,_ Enoch instructed, and, my heart pounding crazily, I lowered myself onto my back and stared up at the stone ceiling. I had never particularly liked doctors, but I would take a mundane one over a Silent Brother any day.

Enoch took my wrist, and I winced as a sharp, stabbing pain blossomed over the area where Jem had brushed my skin minutes beforehand. I watched nervously as he held a vial to my hand, which was slowly filling up with blood. When it was full, he moved over to my other hand and administered the same procedure. Why did I have to lie down for this? Surely I could have been sitting up—

And then, without warning, Enoch bent over me with a syringe-like object and poured a drop of liquid into each eye. Pain exploded in my head, and I shouted aloud, trying to roll off the table, but I was completely frozen to the spot—I couldn't even blink. "The Silent Brothers have strange magic,"Jem had said once, and now I could fully understand what he meant by that. My eyes were now watering madly, and through the haze of tears I saw that Enoch was still standing over me, his empty eye sockets much closer than I would have liked. He wiped my face with a cloth and, just like that, the pain disappeared and my eyes were perfectly dry again, with not a drop of water in my eyes.

"What did you do?" I demanded, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. He had mixed the tears with my blood and was now transferring it to a larger beaker, in which some liquid appeared to be steaming, the smoke curling up into the air.

 _There are some forms of demon poison that languish in the veins for years, only showing up if certain tests have been performed._ Enoch ghosted back to me after examining the beaker, his tone impassive. _You have emerged unscathed, Abigail. Your blood shows no signs of abnormalities._

"That's reassuring, but…that's not the real reason why I am here. I want to know if I am…" I paused, thinking of the proper way to word it in this time. "…With child." I could barely say the phrase, and my voice came out sounding choked.

Enoch did not react in any way aside from staring blindly down at me. _I presume the father would be James Carstairs?_

"Yes," I said reluctantly—was it that obvious? If even a Silent Brother could guess the nature of our relationship, what must the others at the Institute think?

 _Perhaps taking such risks is not a wise thing to do,_ Enoch continued, and I detected a hint of reproach in his tone. _The circumstances of your arrival here are vague at best. Becoming embroiled in such affairs is not recommended._ He paused, and I bowed my head, suddenly ashamed. _There has been extensive research undertaken by the Brotherhood about your situation, and nothing so far has been discovered. Whatever magic was used to create the Portal you spoke of is unknown to us. Perhaps a warlock may be able to better assess its true nature, but it is likely a combination of technology that has yet to be invented and magic that is demonic in origin._

"So I might be trapped here forever?" I asked in a small voice.

 _It is possible,_ Enoch replied after a short pause. _If that is the case, you cannot stay at the London Institute indefinitely or suspicions will be aroused._

My mouth had gone very dry. _"What?"_ I asked, my voice cracking. "I can't…stay there?"

Enoch wasn't sympathetic, exactly, but he wasn't entirely unfeeling, either—he sounded more matter-of-fact, like an adult telling a child they were moving house. _If you do not wish to go to Idris, you will be sent to an American Institute, where you should be able to blend in more easily. That is not to say you cannot see those at the London Institute ever again, but once you come of age you are expected to travel to different Institutes around the world._

"Oh," I mumbled. "I understand." But I truly didn't.

Enoch put a hand on my arm, and I thought for a second it was to comfort me, but he was merely drawing a rune on my hand, an intricate, swirling symbol I didn't recognize. _James Carstairs is not immortal, and neither are you,_ he said, almost gently. I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes again, but I couldn't tell whether it was due to his words or the pain that the rune had caused, blossoming down my skin like a snake coiling itself around my arm. But the Mark was already beginning to fade—I watched in bewilderment as it dissolved into my skin as if it had never been there at all, not even leaving a faint imprint behind. "What does that mean?" I asked.

 _It means you are not with child,_ Enoch said, stepping back from me, and my entire body slumped in relief as I hopped off the table; I could literally feel my heart rate slow. _If the rune were to stay visible, you would be pregnant._

"Thank you, Brother Enoch," I said gratefully as the door opened again, sending in a blast of cold air from the Ossuarium in with it. I made a mental note, no matter how embarrassing it would be, to speak of methods of contraception with Jem later—if there even was another opportunity.

Enoch led me back through the Ossuarium, past the rows of dead Shadowhunters, and back over the Speaking Stars, this time heading through a small opening in the wall where a dark, spiraling staircase led us even deeper into the ground. I kept a tight grip on the railing as we descended even farther—not surprisingly, the air was freezing down here, even colder than it had been in the Ossuarium, and I would have hugged myself to keep warm if I wasn't so afraid of tumbling down the narrow staircase. I had no idea how long the fall would be.

When the staircase finally ended, I found myself in a long, equally darkened hallway, with iron doors—most of them closed and barred—lining the walls. Here must be where the prisoners were kept, and this time I really did wrap my arms around myself—I felt as if I was in the Parisian catacombs, with skulls lining the walls and staring at me with eyes as blank and dead as the Silent Brothers' were.

Enoch had stopped in front of a door at the very end of the corridor, which was standing slightly ajar. I thanked him again, and after taking a breath to steel myself, stepped into Jessamine's cell.

The only pieces of furniture in sight were a washstand and a hard wooden bed, atop which was a thin wool blanket, currently wrapped around a huddled form. I could just make out a tangle of filthy, dirt-streaked blonde hair. The door clanged shut behind me, and I searched quickly around the cell, some part of me hoping that Jem had returned already, but he was nowhere in sight. It appeared as if I would have to brave this alone.

"Jessamine?" I asked in as non-threatening a voice as I could. Truthfully, I didn't want to be anywhere near her at the moment, seeing as how she had betrayed me to Nate, and, by extension, Mortmain—it wasn't even a stretch to say that _she_ was the real reason my father was dead—but this was the price I had to pay for reassurance that I wasn't pregnant. Maybe it wouldn't have been so unusual in this time, since everyone tended to get married at a very young age, but even so, having a baby was the last thing on my mind.

The girl on the bed slowly turned her head to face me. She was a far cry from the breathtaking beauty she usually was—she was wearing an old, ragged dress and her cruel eyes had lost their cunning spark. She was, overall, a forlorn figure, and I almost felt sorry for her. _Almost._ "Welcome," she said, her voice scratchy and hoarse. Her eyes were red-rimmed. "Nice place to live out of, isn't this? Did—did Charlotte send you to bring me back?"

I bit my lip, staring down at my feet. "No," I admitted.

"But—she can't _leave_ me here!" Jessamine screeched, her voice rising in hysteria. "I can hear them, all night."

"Hear what?" I asked, secretly glad that I wasn't within arms' reach of her. She looked as if she would grab my shoulders and start shaking me.

Jessamine slumped back onto the bed, her eyes wild. "The dead, whispering in their tombs. If I stay down here long enough, I will join them. I know it."

 _I don't hear anything,_ I thought—or perhaps I just wasn't listening. "Jessie," I said gently even as I recoiled at the nickname, "Charlotte… _we_ need your help."

"In betraying Nate," Jessamine replied bitterly, and I suppressed a jerk of surprise at how perceptive she was. Jessamine was many things—selfish, shallow, unkind—but unintelligent certainly wasn't one of them. "But I don't know anything. I don't even know why I'm here."

"Yes, you do," I heard Jem say from behind me, and I gratefully stepped aside to let him into the room. Our gazes met and locked for a brief second, and I gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of my head. His expression immediately betrayed his relief, as mine had when Enoch had told me I wasn't pregnant, but there was something else in his eyes that I couldn't quite place. Before I could try to guess what it was, he looked away and turned to Jessamine. "You know exactly why you're here, Jessie—"

"Because I fell in love!" she snapped, glaring balefully up at us. "You ought to know what that's like."

"I do," Jem said mildly, as if it was the most basic truth in the world to him. "But I have not betrayed the others I deeply care about because of it, either."

"Would you?" Jessamine asked bluntly.

This was moving into dangerous territory, and I started to change the subject, but Jem put a hand on my arm. "If it came down to a choice," he said, almost thoughtfully, "I know that Abby would never ask me to betray the Institute for her. If she did, it would only prove that she was not truly in love with me."

" _You,"_ Jessamine snarled, and she moved forward on the bed as if to lunge at Jem, a filthy handkerchief clutched in her fists. "I always thought you were the nicest one. But you're horrible. You're all horrible. Charlotte _tortured_ me with that Mortal Sword until I told everything. What more could you possibly want from me? You've already forced me to betray the man I love."

" _Forced_ you?" I asked. "Charlotte had no choice—"

"Oh, do shut up, Abby," she growled. "Why did _you_ come down here anyway? You're the one who is least likely to understand my plight. And you never will, not with your _tragic, doomed_ love. That was over before it even had a chance to begin properly."

Jem gave a small smile, and it was impossible to tell whether he was affected by her comments or not. "You speak of me as if I am already dead, Jessie," he said.

Jessamine's eyes stayed cold, without a hint of remorse. "Well, you are," she replied bluntly. "Just look at you. Whether it's a few weeks or a few months, it hardly matters."

"Of course it does," I snapped, unable to contain myself. "Can't you at least be civil?"

"No, Abby, I cannot," she almost yelled, her voice echoing off the stone walls. Her handkerchief was crumped in her hands, and her brown eyes were narrowed into slits. "Don't you see? Don't any of you see? You're always parading around, acting noble, high and mighty. You don't say who you really are, because you want to conform. But I never have. Everyone hides themselves. Even Jem puts on a front sometimes. But I never did. I was the only one who didn't. And if everyone despises me for it, then so be it."

And that was when I understood Jessamine, if only for a brief flash of time. She was right—she was perhaps the only person who had always been exactly what she was, no hiding herself or pretending to act superficially friendly. In fact, I almost admired her courage. And in that moment, it was impossible for me to hate her.

But that didn't mean I agreed with her.

"And Nate _doesn't_ put on a front?" I asked, baffled. "Jessie, he lied and schemed to get in with Mortmain, and pretended to be helping the Shadowhunters!"

Jessamine narrowed her eyes. "So you are telling me to go against my very nature."

I had had enough. Remembering what Tessa had told me, I said, "You may be in love with Nate, but he does not love _you._ He would betray you if it furthered his cause. Take Tessa's word for it: he cares for no one but himself. Don't you recall how upset she was when she learned that he had been spying for Mortmain? She, of all people, would have reason to be in denial. But she's not, because she knows the truth. Nate is foul, and not worthy of you. He's a mundane, and handsome—the two things that you want a man to be. Do you love Nate, Jessamine, or do you merely love what he stands for?"

"You're lying," Jessamine hissed. "He would not have married me if he did not love me. I am Jessamine Gray now. If I do not help you, I will be proving myself as a loyal wife."

"Mortmain, and, by extension, Nate has no more use for you now that you aren't at the Institute any longer," I tried to explain. "You know he wishes to eradicate the Shadowhunters. Do you believe that extends to you, as well? Nate wants what Mortmain wants."

"Nor is it likely you will ever see him again," added Jem. "If you do _not_ help us, the Clave will never let you go. It will be you and the dead down here for eternity, if you are not punished with a curse."

Jessamine shrank back, her eyes wary now instead of angry. I hoped that was a good sign. "Nate said you would try to frighten me."

"We're not trying to frighten you," I said as soothingly as I could. "All we need is for you to write a letter to him telling him you have knowledge of a secret Shadowhunter plot against Mortmain, and to meet you tonight—"

"I will not betray him," Jessamine interrupted, her face hard. "Mortmain will yet win out over you. Then the Silent Brothers will be defeated and Nate will come to claim me."

"If Nate truly loves you," I replied, "He will forgive that you did this. Love is forgiveness. Your choices are either to help us or face being tortured, as you call it, by the Silent Brothers and the Clave. If he is honestly in love with you, he would want you to do anything in your power to keep yourself from harm. Therefore, you should have nothing to worry about if he finds out about this."

Jessamine faltered; she looked at Jem, her face pinched. "I…would you forgive Abby, if she were to betray you? Would you forgive her if she turned into your idea of evil?"

"Nothing she could ever do or say would diminish my love for her," Jem said solemnly, and my heart swelled in gratitude. I reached for his hand and curled my fingers around his; Jessamine watched us with a sour expression.

"Tessa would be meeting him, I suppose, disguised as me?" she asked after a long moment, and I breathed a sigh of relief, my second one that day. I had no idea how we'd managed to convince her, but somehow we had.

"Yes," Jem confirmed; he was much better at concealing his relief than me. "Is there any useful information you could tell us? How you managed to get there unnoticed, perhaps?"

Jessamine nodded. "You must wear boys' clothes. When I meet him at night, I am always dressed as a boy. It is safer for me to traverse the streets alone like that—he will expect it."

I was suddenly struck with a memory of Jessamine skulking down the corridor in trousers and a waistcoat the same day that Benedict Lightwood had come to the Institute to speak to me. I'd thought the occurrence odd at the time, but hadn't given it much thought. How easy it was to overlook such an obvious clue—but by then, I supposed, discovering her would have still been too late.

"Have you a pen and paper?" she was saying now, more resignedly than anything else. "I will write the note."

Jem reached into his pocket and drew out a rolled-up piece of parchment and pen. Jessamine scowled as she took them, uncapped the pen, and quickly scribbled something onto the parchment, sounding very much like her old self. "I ought to get something in return for this. If they will not let me out—"

Jem was unwavering. "They will not until it is determined your information is good."

"Then they ought to at least give me better food," she complained, signing the bottom with a flourish and handing it back to Jem. "It's dreadful here. Just gruel and hard bread. The boys' clothes I wear are behind the doll house in my room—take care moving it. And tell Tessa that she must borrow some of my clothes. She's been wearing the same four dresses I bought her in June over and over."

"I'll be sure to let her know," I said, and couldn't stop my lips from twitching. A bit of color had come back into the Jessamine's face, and she frowned at me.

"You're a dreadful bore, Abby, but at least you're better than nothing. You ought to come down here again so I can advise you on how to style your hair so it doesn't look like a rats' nest." She sniffed haughtily, her countenance at odds with her appearance.

"I'll see what I can do," I told the other girl, but deep down I felt a stab of guilt at the knowledge that no, I _wouldn't_ come down here to visit her again.

* * *

The carriage ride back to the Institute was quiet; neither Jem nor I spoke at first of our victory or what I had learned from Brother Enoch. The rain had given way to weak slits of sunlight shining from between the clouds, and we had just passed Westminster Abbey when I finally broke the silence. I intended to ask him which Shadowhunter he had wanted to research in the archives, but instead a completely different set of words came tumbling out of my mouth. "Why did you look at me in that way when I told you I wasn't…with child? You seemed relieved, but you were thinking something else too. Please tell me, Jem."

He reached out to take both of my hands in his own and smiled at me, but it didn't quite reach his eyes; there was a touch of sadness in their silver depths. "Forgive me, Abby. It was foolish of me to even entertain the possibility—you know that I had given up hope that I would ever fall in love before you arrived, and with that I had also accepted the notion that I would never have a family of my own. But I suppose, after everything that has occurred, some small, irrational part of my mind wondered, even if only for a day, if…if becoming a father wasn't such an impossibility after all."

I had broken into a cold sweat during his speech, and I didn't release my grasp from his as I asked, "And is that something you want, then? Becoming a father? I suppose…if you really want to…"

But Jem shook his head. "No. No, that is not what I want right now, Abby. Not only is it a selfish notion, it would be extraordinarily unfair to both you and the child—asking you to burden yourself with a baby at such a young age, and for the child having to grow up without a father. It would be a short-term happiness for me that would become a long-term burden for you and it. I could no more ask you to make such a sacrifice than you could ask me to return to your own time with you." His eyes softened. "It is not prudent to ask for even more when I have already been gifted with so much."

I was only able to nod at this point, and, still keeping my hands in his, stood up and crossed the carriage in one step to curl up in his lap in a most improper fashion. His arms wound around me as I rested my head under his chin, listening to his heart. "I'm sorry," I whispered, but it wasn't just about the nonexistent child, the child _ren_ he would never have—it was the entire _life_ he would never have. We stayed like that for the rest of the carriage ride, and when it finally halted outside the Institute my eyes were wet.

* * *

"This is what I have been working on for just this occasion!" Henry exclaimed when I walked into the drawing-room that afternoon, dressed in gear and thankfully free from an overly complicated dress. Charlotte, Henry, Will, and Jem were standing around the table, on which were two oblong metal disks that Henry was proudly displaying. Sophie was seated in the corner and looking out the window as if she was waiting for someone, and Tessa was nowhere in sight. "It is specifically calibrated to function as a weapon against clockwork assassins."

"As dull as Nate Gray is, his head is not actually filled with gears, Henry," Will said cuttingly. "He's a human."

"He may bring one of those creatures with him. We don't know if he'll be there unaccompanied. If nothing else, that clockwork coachman of Mortmain's—"

"I think Henry is right," Tessa said from the doorway, and everyone turned to stare at her. She was dressed in Jessamine's brown trousers and navy waistcoat, her brown hair pulled up and stuffed under a top hat. The overall effect wasn't very remarkable to me, but Will's eyes were roving up and down her body hungrily, and even Jem's mouth had opened slightly.

"You don't look like a boy at all," Will accused, not tearing his gaze from the curve of her hips. At least Jem had had the sense to glance away—or at least he was pretending he had. "You look like a girl in boys' clothes."

"I'm not trying to fool anyone but a casual observer," Tessa said, her cheeks flaming. She tilted her head forward so that the hat was slipping over her face, one grey eye glaring at Will from under the brim. "Nate _knows_ Jessamine's a girl. And the clothes will fit me better once I've Changed into her."

"Maybe you should do it now," he suggested none too kindly, and I guessed it was because his self-control wouldn't last very long with her wearing such "shocking" clothes. I pretended to be fascinated by a painting on the opposite wall to hide my grin. When I turned back to the group, Jessamine was standing in Tessa's place, her eyes still resentful as she stared at Will.

"Uncanny," Henry muttered, and I had to agree—Tessa's gift was truly one of a kind.

Seemingly uncomfortable with everyone looking at her, Tessa took a step forward into the room and pointed at the objects on the table. "What is that?"

"It's a sort of…infernal device that Henry's created," Jem explained. We were standing at opposite ends of the table, and I was secretly grateful that his talking meant I could look at him for as long as I wanted. "Meant to disrupt the internal mechanisms that keep the clockwork creatures running."

"You twist it," Henry added, picking up the disc and swishing it with a flick of his wrist, "Like _this,_ and then throw it. Try to lodge it in the creature's gears or somewhere that will stick. It is meant to disrupt the mechanical currents that run through the creature's body, causing them to wrench apart. It could do you some damage too, even if you aren't clockwork, so don't hang on to it once it's activated. I've only two, so…" He handed the one he was holding to Jem, who was the closest to him, before giving the remaining one to Charlotte.

"The message has been sent?" asked Tessa.

"Yes," Charlotte spoke up. "We're only waiting for a reply from your brother now. Here is a map that shows where Jessamine claims she and Nate usually meet. It's a warehouse on Mincing Lane, down by Lower Thames Street. It used to be a tea merchant's packing factory until the business went bankrupt." As she spoke, she unfurled a map of London in the middle of the now-empty table; even reading it upside down I recognized the shape of the Thames winding its way down the center of the city.

"Mincing Lane," Jem mused, tracing one long finger over the map. We had barely even made eye contact since I'd entered the room, and a frustrated ache was beginning to gnaw at me. Keeping our relationship secret was becoming more than tedious, but I doubted now was a sensible time to publicly reveal it. "Center of the tea trade. Also the opium trade. Makes sense Mortmain might keep a warehouse there. Such an odd place for Jessamine, though. She always dreamed of such glamour—of being introduced at Court and putting her hair up for dances. Not of clandestine meetings in some sooty warehouse near the wharves."

"She did do what she set out to do," Tessa pointed out. "She married someone who isn't a Shadowhunter."

Will offered her one of his rare grins. "If the marriage were valid, she'd be your sister-in-law."

Tessa looked horrified. "I—it's not that I hold a grudge against Jessamine. But she deserves better than my brother."

"Anyone deserves better than that," he agreed, reaching under the table to pull out a rolled-up piece of fabric. Inside were five gleaming silver weapons with a rune carved into the blade. "I'd nearly forgotten I had Thomas order these for me a few weeks ago. They've only just arrived. Misericords—good for getting in between the jointure of those clockwork creatures."

"The question is, once we get Tessa inside to meet Nate, how do the rest of us watch their meeting without being noticed?" Jem asked as he picked one of the weapons up and ran his fingers across the blade. "We must be ready to intervene at any moment, especially if it appears that his suspicions have been aroused."

"We must arrive first, and hide ourselves," Will answered. "It is the only way. We listen to see if Nate says anything useful."

Jem looked unhappy with this assessment. "I dislike the idea of Tessa being forced to speak to him at all."

"She can well hold her own; I have seen it," shrugged Will. "Besides, he is more likely to speak freely if he thinks himself safe. Once captured, even if the Silent Brothers do explore his mind, Mortmain may have thought to put blocks in it to protect his knowledge, which can take time to dismantle."

"I think Mortmain has put in blocks in Jessamine's case," said Tessa, wringing her hands together. Her stricken expression looked very odd on Jessie's features. "For whatever it is worth, I cannot touch her thoughts."

"Even more likely he will have done it in Nate's, then," Will replied; he definitely had a point.

"That boy is as weak as a kitten," Henry said. "He will tell us whatever we want to know. And if not, I have a device—"

"Henry!" Charlotte exclaimed, looking dismayed. "Tell me you have not been working on a torture device."

"Not at all," Henry said happily, reaching for a box under his feet. "I call it the Confuser. It emits a vibration that directly affects the human brain, rendering it incapable of telling between fiction and fact. He will simply spill everything that is in his mind, with no attention to the consequences…"

"Not right now, Henry," Charlotte interrupted, putting a hand on his arm before he could pull anything out. "If we must utilize the…Confuser on Nate Gray, we will do so when we have brought him back here. At the moment we must concentrate on reaching the warehouse before Tessa. It is not _that_ far; I suggest Cyril take us there, then returns for Tessa."

"Nate will recognize the Institute's carriage," Tessa argued. "When I saw Jessamine leaving for a meeting with Nate, she was most decidedly going on foot. I shall walk."

Will instantly shook his head. "You will get lost."

"I won't," she said stubbornly. "It's a simple walk. I could turn left at Gracechurch Street, go along Eastcheap, and cut through to Mincing Lane."

After a brief disagreement, it was finally decided that Cyril would follow Tessa at a safe distance while the rest of the Shadowhunters would go with Henry in the carriage. I had to admire her obstinacy; no wonder Will was so taken by her. She was perhaps the only other person who was just as stubborn as he was.

"I don't suppose anyone's going to point out that once again we are leaving the Institute without a Shadowhunter to protect it?" he asked acerbically, crossing his arms and looking at Charlotte. "Unless, of course, you've forgotten what happened last time—"

"And which of us would you suggest stay home, then, instead of helping Tessa?" Charlotte asked, and to my great annoyance Will pointed at me.

"Well, Abby, of course. She is hardly trained—"

"And I suppose you're going to take on training me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

Will scoffed. "Of course not. I am merely saying that if you are too afraid—"

" _Afraid?"_ I echoed. "Of course I'm not afraid." This wasn't strictly true, but he didn't need to know that. "I'm a Shadowhunter just as much as you are. Besides, wouldn't it be safer if I was with a group rather than left to defend the Institute on my own?"

Will scowled at me, and seemed about to retort, but Jem cut in. "Abby can well hold her own just as Tessa can," he said, echoing his _parabatai's_ earlier words. "Ihave seen _that._ It does not hurt to have an extra pair of eyes to assist us."

I noticed that Tessa and Charlotte were looking at me in some surprise, as if they were unused to seeing me speak so frankly to Will. I smiled gratefully at Jem, who easily grinned back. Will stared back and forth between the two of us, a wicked spark in his eyes. I was certain that he was about to give the entire game away, but there was a tap at the window at the same time the front bell rang. _Saved by the bell,_ I thought happily, feeling a rush of gratitude toward whoever was at the door. Sophie had rushed out of the room to answer it even before it had stopped ringing, and Charlotte opened the window as a piece of paper fluttered in as if it had been carried on the wind, although the air outside was still. It flew towards Tessa, who caught it deftly.

"From Nate, I suppose. His message for Jessamine," Charlotte said, closing the window and walking back over to the table. Henry's eyes had followed her journey, but she did not appear to have noticed.

"It is from Nate," Tessa confirmed, giving a little shriek as the paper suddenly burst into flames, leaving only traces of ash on her fingers. "He has agreed to meet Jessie in the usual place at sundown—"

"That gives us only a little time," Henry mused. "I will go and tell Cyril to ready the carriage." With another glance at Charlotte, he strode out of the room—now it was her turn to watch him leave; she looked pleased.

Henry had barely disappeared when Sophie came back into the room, Gideon Lightwood trailing behind her. She was smiling up at him, looking more beautiful than ever, and I was happy for her.

"There," Charlotte said, seeming satisfied. "The Institute will not be Shadowhunterless."

Will was glowering at Gideon, who asked, "You called on me? And I am here, though I know not why, or what for."

"To train Sophie, ostensibly," answered Charlotte. "And also to look after the Institute while we're gone. We need a Shadowhunter of age to be present, and you qualify. In fact, it was Sophie who suggested you."

"And how long will you be gone?"

Charlotte shrugged. "Two hours, three. Not all night."

After a moment, Gideon nodded, but he only had eyes for Sophie. "All right. My father would say it was good practice for when I run the place."

Will made an angry noise and started toward Gideon, but Jem quickly grabbed him by the wrist, forcing him back.

Charlotte was remarkably calm; her answer was matter-of-fact. "It may be that the Institute will be yours one day. In any case, we're grateful for your assistance. The Institute is the responsibility of all Shadowhunters, after all. These are our dwelling places—our Idris away from home."

Gideon's eyes flicked over everyone for a moment before they went back to resting on Sophie. He nodded at her. "Are you ready to train?" Without waiting for an answer, he strode out of the room, Sophie following obediently behind him and not quite able to hide the pleased look on her face.

This appeared to signal the end of the conversation; Charlotte turned to Tessa. "We shall see you at the warehouse. You will be perfectly safe, Tessa. And thank you, for doing this for us."

She attempted to smile, but the look didn't translate very well onto Jessamine's face. I crossed my fingers that she would have all the luck in the world tonight.

We would all need it.

* * *

The warehouse was a nondescript brick building lodged in between two identical structures on either side—the overall look was very drab and dingy, and I couldn't imagine Jessamine willingly coming here. I hadn't gotten a chance to speak to Jem privately since we had been in the Silent City, and Will's hawklike stare had prevented me from even saying one word during the carriage ride to Mincing Lane. As soon as he'd climbed out of the carriage, Will had gone dashing inside to investigate, Jem at his heels. I had followed more slowly with Henry and Charlotte, and after a thorough examination of what seemed to be the main office, I found myself standing uselessly at the door with my seraph blade in hand, watching Charlotte riffle through the drawers. I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye, slowly moving across the wall, and suppressed a shudder when I saw it was a large yellow spider. But I could already tell that this was one was real, and not clockwork. With a slightly detached fascination, I watched it scuttle over to its web in the corner and survey its domain with unblinking eyes.

"Doubtless where Jessamine and Nate accomplished the majority of their courtship." Will's voice broke me out of my reverie, and I looked over to where he was standing over a sagging couch pushed against the far wall, painted with flowers and dust. Jem, looking disgusted, prodded the edge with his cane. This didn't escape the notice of Will, who observed, "I didn't realize you'd taken up such a strong anti-courtship stance." Was it just me, or did he glance over at me as he spoke?

"Not on principle," Jem argued. "The thought of Nate Gray touching anyone—" He shuddered in response—"And Jessamine is so convinced he loves her. If you could see her, I think even you might pity her, Will."

"I would not," Will announced. "Unrequited love is a ridiculous state, and it makes those in it behave ridiculously." Bored of the couch, he walked over to where Charlotte was still searching through the drawers. "Charlotte? The desk?"

"Nothing," she said grimly. Her face looked almost green in the light. "Some papers listing the prices of tea and the times of tea auctions, but other than that, nothing but dead spiders."

"How romantic," Will muttered. Jem grinned, and met my eyes over Charlotte's stooped form. I blushed but smiled shyly back, staring down at the grimy ground.

"There is nothing here but broken bits of loose-leaf tea," Henry said, his orange hair caked with dirt as he surveyed the room. "Orange pekoe, from the looks of it."

Jem pulled open one of the drawers and stared down into its depths, seeming thoughtful. "I am perfectly willing to accept that this was an active tea-trading office at one point, but it's clearly been shuttered for years, ever since Mortmain decided to interest himself in mechanisms instead. And yet the floor is clear of dust. There has been activity here—more than simply Jessamine and Nate's meeting in a disused office."

"There are more offices that way," Henry added. "Charlotte and I will search them. Will, Jem, Abby, you examine the second floor."

Jem and Will exchanged an amused look at Henry's assertiveness, but both dashed out of the room without a second glance at me. I sighed under my breath; I would never understand boys. Henry had already disappeared as well, but Charlotte hadn't moved from her position over the cabinet. Now I could see that her green pallor wasn't just a trick of the light; she looked genuinely nauseous. "Charlotte?" I asked tentatively, moving to put a hand on her shoulder, but she had already straightened up.

"Yes, Abby?" she replied steadily enough, but I could see that beads of sweat had broken out across her forehead.

I frowned. "Are you feeling all right? You don't look very well."

"I am not, but there is nothing we can do about that now." Charlotte wiped her brow and walked past me, pausing at the door to look curiously at me. "Perhaps I should be asking _you_ the same question. You have been unusually quiet this evening."

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine," I lied. Charlotte fixed me with a piercing stare and I looked away, certain that she could see through my fib. But she didn't press the point, and was gone the next moment in a swirl of brown hair. I was slightly taken aback that she hadn't pressed the point, especially since I had so obviously been lying, but I had to remind myself that Shadowhunters were not an overly caring sort at the best of times, and that Charlotte had more important things on her mind than my current mood.

Taking one last look at the spider on the wall, I left the office as well and found myself in a deserted corridor. Hearing the murmur of voices coming from upstairs, I darted up an old, rickety staircase and found myself on the second floor: a wraparound balcony circled around the gallery, looking down onto the lobby of the warehouse below. There were numerous closed doors set around the veranda, and I was about to open the first one when I caught sight of Jem and Will on the opposite side, bent over something I couldn't see from my distance. Heart in my throat, I hurried over to them, my stomach turning over when I saw it was a man lying prone on the ground. His skin held the same deathly pale tinge that Jem's did, and his silvery eyes were blank and staring up at the ceiling. He was evidently a _yin fen_ addict, and judging by his thick, full beard and hairy arms, he was—or had been—a werewolf.

"Will—" Jem was saying, but broke off as I approached, his silver eyes wide. Will's shoulders were hunched, his hands clenched into tight fists.

"What happened? Who is he?" I asked, crouching down next to the man and feeling his wrist for a pulse, but there was nothing.

"He told us that he worked for Mortmain, putting pieces of the automatons together," Jem explained bitterly. "Mortmain bought up large amounts of _yin fen_ and used it to get the werewolf packs addicted so they could stay up all night furthering his cause. Now that he's almost finished building the army, the werewolves are slowly dying one by one."

I tried not to look at the werewolf's body, forcing the thought that this would be the way Jem died out of my mind.

There was a loud creak from downstairs—the front door was opening—and Jem quickly pulled me down so that we were lying on the floor, peering out between the bars in the railing. Will dropped down on my other side, and I saw his eyes go to my throat, seeing the necklace dangling in front of me. "That's Jem's mother's pendant," he said, his tone impossible to decipher. "Isn't it?"

I nodded, reaching up to close my fingers around it, and Will's eyes moved up to mine. He was looking at me strangely, and seemed about to speak again when Nate's voice boomed out, echoing around the lobby. "Jessamine. My darling," he called, and I saw him stride out from behind a pillar, holding his arms out in front of him as Tessa walked into my line of vision, Jessamine's fair hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she removed her hat.

"I need to know where the Magister is," she said, stopping just short of Nate. "It's terribly important. I overheard some of the Shadowhunters' plans, you see. I know you didn't wish to tell me, but…"

"I see," he mused. "But first—come and kiss me, sweet-and-twenty." My lip curled in disgust as Tessa, after a short pause, took a step toward him. Nate enfolded her in his arms and tilted her chin up, stopping just short of her mouth.

"My apologies for my impetuous behavior," he whispered into her ear almost theatrically. "I couldn't help but be curious to see how far you'd go to protect your Shadowhunter friends…little sister."

Will snarled next to me, and Tessa gasped, trying to twist away. _"Nate."_

"Did you really think I didn't know?" he sneered. "After that note arrived at Benedict's ball, sending me off on that wild goose chase to Vauxhall, I realized. It all made sense. I should have known it was you from the beginning. Stupid little girl."

"Stupid?" she retorted. "I got you to spill your secrets, Nate. You told me everything. Did Mortmain find out? Is that why you look like you haven't slept in days?"

"You couldn't leave well enough alone. You had to pry into my business. Delighted to see me brought low, are you? What kind of sister does that make you, Tessie?"

"You would have killed me if you had the chance!" Tessa snapped, and I mentally cheered her on as she shoved him away from her. "There is no game you can play, nothing you can say to make me think I've betrayed you, Nate. You earned every bit of it. Allying yourself with Mortmain—"

"As if my alliances are any of your business. I was doing well for myself until you and your Nephilim friends came and meddled. Now the Magister wants my head on a block. Your fault. All your fault. I was almost in despair, till I got that ridiculous note from Jessamine. I knew you were behind it, of course. All the trouble you must have gone through too, torturing her to get her to write me that ridiculous missive—"

"We didn't torture her," Tessa interjected. "She wanted to do it. She wanted to save her own skin."

"I don't believe you. She loves me."

"No one could love you," she snarled, and even Will's eyes widened at that. She had suddenly turned on him like a wild animal. "You're my brother—I loved you—and you have killed even that."

" _I am not your brother!"_ he hissed.

"Very well, my half brother, if you must have it—"

"You're not my sister," Nate said with relish; the look on his face was one of a cat who knew it had a bird cornered and was figuring out the best way to torture it. "Not even by half. Your mother and my mother were not the same woman."

"That's not possible. You're lying. Our mother was Elizabeth Gray—"

" _Your_ mother was Elizabeth Gray, born Elizabeth Moore. Mine was Harriet Moore."

Tessa stopped short. _"Aunt Harriet?"_

"She was engaged once. Did you know that? After our parents—your parents—were married. The man died before the wedding could take place. But she was already with child. Your mother raised the baby as hers to spare her sister the shame of the world knowing she had consummated her marriage before it had taken place. That she was a whore. I'm not your brother, and I never was. Harriet—she never told me she was my mother. I found out from your mother's letters. All those years, and she never said a word. She was too ashamed."

Now the disgust in me was reaching something that was close to revulsion. My thoughts were mirrored on Tessa's face as she said, "You killed her. Your own mother."

" _Because_ she was my mother," corrected Nate. "Because she'd disowned me. Because she was ashamed of me. Because I'll never know who my father was. Because she was a whore."

"Why did you tell Jessamine that my mother was a Shadowhunter? Even if Aunt Harriet was your mother, she and my mother were sisters. Aunt Harriet would have been a Shadowhunter, too, and so would you. Why tell such a ridiculous lie?"

Nate jeered. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Let me go," Tessa panted; she knew she was losing, and she was trying desperately to evade capture. I knew the moment of our intervention was near. "You can't kill me. The Magister wants me alive—"

"'Alive' is not 'unhurt'," Nate said, and I had the urge to spit directly onto him. He turned around with a flourish, staring at something I couldn't see. "Wondering where your friends are? Well, here's one of them, at least." I heard Tessa's sharp intake of breath, and I nearly gasped myself as a twenty-foot tall automaton emerged from the shadows, its metal parts gleaming and clockwork ticking. It didn't look like a human at all—it looked like a robot, and my insides shrank in fear. But that wasn't what frightened me most—it was carrying a crumpled form in its arms, one I recognized instantly as Charlotte.

"Pity it isn't the blonde one," Nate observed. "The Magister has been searching for her for a long time. "

I heard Jem hiss under his breath, his knuckles turning white on the disc that Henry had given him.

"Look," Nate laughed, shaking Tessa in his grip as she struggled. "It's time you knew what you are up against."

"Charlotte!" she cried.

"A prototype," Nate explained gleefully. "Abandoned by the Magister. Too large and cumbersome for his purposes. But not for mine." He took a step toward the automaton, holding Tessa out in front of him. "Drop her." It dropped Charlotte onto the ground in front of Nate and Tessa, where she lay limp and unmoving. "Now crush her."

Will began to scramble to his feet, but he wasn't the only one: there was a cry of _"Charlotte!"_ from the floor below and Henry charged for the automaton, a whirl of red hair and gleaming metal. He drove his blade into its side, but instead of slowing the creature, the metal _dissolved_ in a flash of sparks. Henry stared at it, baffled, and the automaton lashed out at him. Henry was thrown against one of the pillars with a sickening crack, where he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

" _Such_ a display of matrimonial devotion," Nate laughed. "Who would have thought it? Jessamine always said she thought Branwell couldn't stand his wife."

"You're a pig," Tessa spat. "What do you know about the things people do for each other? If Jessamine were burning to death, you wouldn't look up from your card game. You care for nothing but yourself."

"Be quiet, or I'll loosen your teeth for you," growled Nate. "Come!" he ordered the automaton. "Over here. You must hold her till the Magister arrives."

With a great clanking, the automaton lurched forward, nearly crushing Charlotte in the process, its spiked metal claws reaching out for Tessa. She was struggling against Nate as hard as she could. "Let me go to Charlotte—"

With revulsion on his face, Nate threw her forward, and she fell to the floor. The automaton lunged for her, and suddenly Will and Jem leapt up, jumping over the balcony straight onto the clockwork creature. I was on my feet before I had time to consciously think about it, and I threw myself over the railing after them, landing on the automaton's head. It was lumbering around wildly, trying to shake us off, but I clutched tightly onto the metal and stabbed my seraph blade into where its eye should be. But the blade barely left a mark on it, and I was faced with a stark fear: this was beyond anything we had imagined or expected.

Jem and Will were on either shoulder; but both of them were having the same trouble that I was. There was no possible way we could defeat it—not even an army of Shadowhunters would be able to.

"Shake them off! Shake them off, you great metal bastard!" Nate was yelling, and I knew what was going to happen before he finished speaking: I launched myself off its head and back onto the railing, but the force of my weight was too great for the old structure, and it snapped away in my hand. I was suddenly falling through the air, and I barely had time to cry out before I landed, hard, in a pile of burlap sacks filled with tea that broke and spilled out around me, the strong scent of spices filling my nose. I coughed and spluttered as the delayed pain from the fall shot through my body, a fall that would have killed or at least broken a mundane, but I had an advantage that they did not, and additionally the teabags had lessened the impact. I was able to scramble to my feet after several seconds, remembering the time when I'd fallen at least fifty feet after climbing a tree when I was younger and had walked away merely winded. Now that I was a true Shadowhunter, I must have become even stronger.

Tessa was kneeling next to Charlotte, seemingly checking for a pulse; Henry was still unconscious by the pillar; Nate was shouting something unintelligible at the automaton; and Will was still bravely clinging on to its neck—but where was Jem? I whirled around, my heart sinking when my eyes landed on him: he had collapsed to the ground, one leg bent under him at a normally impossible angle. He must have tumbled straight down and landed on his leg. As I started toward him, he staggered to his feet and reached into his pocket, pulling out the misericord that Henry had given him. But just as he prepared to throw it at the automaton, Nate rushed over to him even before I could move, kicking his injured leg. Jem fell to the floor again, and this time he didn't move.

I was vaguely aware that Tessa had rushed for the misericord, and that Will was shouting her name, but it hardly mattered—I had turned blind with rage, and with a fury I didn't even know I possessed, I slammed right into Nate, knocking him to the ground. Normally a teenage girl wouldn't have been able to pose any sort of threat against a muscular, fully-grown man; but I was a Shadowhunter and he was not. He was kicking at me, trying to push me away, but all I could see was Jem's broken leg as he crumpled to the ground. Somehow my fist had connected with his face, and blood was pouring out of his nose as I scratched and punched him wherever I could.

With one final effort, Nate shoved me off of him, and I fell to the ground as he slapped me across the face so hard that my head spun. "Stupid bitch," he growled, his face red with the exertion of fighting. "When the Magister gets hold of you—" But he never finished his sentence—his blue eyes had widened, and were staring at something just above my head. His grip slackened on me, and I rolled to the side just in time to see that there was a second Nate standing next to him—Tessa had Changed into him.

"Tessa!" the real Nate screamed. "What in the bloody hell do you possibly think you're—"

"Seize him!" she shouted at the automaton. "Catch him and hold him!"

"Tessa, you're a fool. This cannot work. The creature is obedient only to—"

"I am Nathaniel Gray!" she ordered; the automaton appeared to be confused as it moved its metal head back and forth between the two of them. "And I order you in the name of the Magister to _seize this man and hold him!"_

"Enough of your games, you stupid little—" But Nate was cut off as the automaton reached out one hand and snatched him up in a tight grasp, raising him up to its face. He thrashed about in the creature's grip, but the automaton was too strong.

I saw Will sprinting across the room, his blue eyes feverish, and throw his body over Tessa's as if shielding her from a blast. In the same second, I saw a spark traveling up the automaton's back, searching for a fuse, and again I knew what was going to happen before it did.

Jem was still sprawled several meters away from me, and with my last reserve of strength I lunged for him, pulling him away from the automaton and collapsing down onto his chest, covering his body with mine as Will was covering Tessa.

And then the automaton exploded.

The noise was so great that my hearing even seemed to disappear for a moment, as if my brain was trying to protect my eardrums from the cacophony. The windows had shattered, bits of glass and plaster raining down into the room. I buried my face in Jem's shoulder as I felt his arms go around me.

When the echo of the explosion had faded, I slowly raised my head. "Abby," Jem whispered hoarsely. He was staring up at me, his arms taut against my back. "Are you all right?"

I half-laughed, half-sobbed at his question. _"Me?_ I should be asking you that." I clambered off of him, relieved to see that I had protected him from the worst of the debris. I helped him stand up as he balanced awkwardly on one leg. Henry had rushed to Charlotte's side and was kissing her face, and Tessa was kneeling over Nate, who now had a large crimson stain rapidly blossoming across his shirt. One of the automaton's claws must have gone straight through him. My stomach turned over.

But there was one person missing: I searched for Will, and I heard Jem's soft exclamation when he found him. He was lying amidst the debris, his shirt torn and blood staining the floor next to him. Jem fell to his knees beside him, ignoring his broken leg, and I knelt down as well. Charlotte and Henry, seeing our distress, were next to us instantly, and we all bent over Will, who was lying motionless.

An anguished whisper broke through the hushed silence. _"Will,"_ Tessa whispered, and looking up I saw true fear in her eyes.

"Tessa," Charlotte said, looking up from Will. "Your brother…"

"He's dead," she replied. "But Will—?"

"He knocked you down and covered you to protect you from the explosion," Jem said, his voice curiously blank. "But there was nothing to protect him. You two were the closest to the blast. The metal fragments shredded his back. He's losing blood quickly."

"But isn't there anything you can do? What about your healing runes? The _iratzes?"_

"We used an _amissio,_ a rune that slows blood loss, but if we attempt a healing rune, his skin will heal over the metal, driving it farther into the soft tissue. We need to get him back home to the infirmary. The metal must be removed before he can be healed." Henry was more serious than I had ever seen him, his hand on Will's black hair.

"Then we must go. We must—"

"Tessa," Jem interrupted. "Did you know you're hurt?" Raising my head, I finally took a proper look at her: she was herself again, and both her clothes and hair were stained with blood.

"This isn't my blood," she said impatiently, taking Will's hand in hers. "This is Nate's. Now we must—can he be carried? Is there anything—"

"No," Jem said sharply. "Not the blood on your clothes. You've a gash on your head. Here." He touched his forehead, and Tessa mirrored his movement with a frown.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm perfectly all right—" But Tessa abruptly cut off in the middle of her sentence. Her eyes rolled back up into her head and she slumped to the ground, Charlotte catching her just in time.

The world was beginning to spin around me as well, but I forced myself to stay conscious. Jem met my eyes, and even though he hadn't spoken I knew exactly what he wanted. I pulled Will's head into my lap and helped him into a sitting position while Jem took his feet, and together we brought him upright. The evening light shone in through the broken windows as we filed out of the warehouse, a deathly quiet settling upon us all as we reached the carriage.

Once Will had been taken care of, Jem sat down next to me, his eyes grave, and I could tell he was in severe pain. The only thing I could do was kiss him on the mouth, quickly, before Charlotte and Henry arrived with Tessa, and we stared wordlessly at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

We couldn't save each other.


	26. Twenty-Six

**I** didn't leave Jem's side once we arrived back at the Institute. Gideon and Sophie were waiting for us at the front doors, both looking concerned and immediately rushing over to the carriage to help when they saw that Will and Tessa were unconscious. I felt a sudden surge of liking towards Gideon when I saw the genuine worry reflected in his eyes, and wondered if I shouldn't have passed judgment on him before we had even spoken to each other.

He slung one of Will's arms around his shoulder while Henry took the other one. Will's blue eyes had cracked open slightly, and he seemed semi-conscious, but unable to support his own weight. Next to me, Jem was watching them with an anxious expression on his own face, but there was no way he was able to help with his broken leg. I surreptitiously took his wrist in mine, stroking the underside of his hand as he had done with me earlier today, and he gave a little start of surprise. I smiled at him, and he returned it, albeit wearily.

Charlotte had rushed ahead into the Institute, presumably to call on the Silent Brothers, and Sophie was left with the task of handling Tessa. Although both girls were tall, Sophie seemed unable to hold up Tessa's weight by herself. I moved to help her, but Bridget was already there, stocky and strong: the three of them disappeared inside after Henry, Will and Gideon. Jem and I were the last to climb out of the carriage and walk through the courtyard; after thanking Cyril, I looped Jem's arm through mine and allowed him to lean on me as we slowly made our way inside. He was careful not to put his entire weight on mine, and not a curse or a cry of pain escaped his lips. I remembered when I had put up such a fuss after breaking my arm, and flushed in embarrassment.

But instead of going up to the infirmary like the others, Jem turned into his room and closed the door behind us. I stared at him, bewildered, as he sat down heavily on his bed, bowing his head and bracing his hands on his knees. "Jem?" I asked uncertainly, my voice cutting through the silence. "Do you…want me to leave?"

He glanced up at me, his face nearly drained of color. "Please don't," he admitted. "I just need an _iratze_ and…perhaps some of the drug. I did not take enough before we left—it was foolish of me."

An empty glass and his box of _yin fen_ stood on his bedside table; wordlessly, I walked over to it and poured the contents of the jug into the glass before opening the box, trying not to inhale the bitter tang of the drug, and scooped a spoonful into the glass. The white powder swirled around the water as it dissolved, a few grains lining the bottom of the glass.

Jem had drawn up his sleeve and was drawing an _iratze_ onto his arm with a stele. I sat down beside him and handed him the glass; he pressed his lips gratefully to my cheek, his fingers grazing my jaw. "Thank you, Abby," he murmured, and I thought back to when I'd first mixed the _yin fen_ together for Jem, without knowing what it was or why he'd needed it, and Will saying those exact words to me when he'd run in.

"How long will it take your leg to heal?" I whispered when he set the glass back onto the table.

"It should be better tomorrow," Jem answered. "It was only a fracture."

Despite everything, I laughed once, the sound startling even me. _"Only_ a fracture?"

Jem's arm wound around my shoulders. "We Shadowhunters heal quite quickly, you know," he said huskily, and I pulled his face down to mine, kissing him softly for a moment before the room began to spin around me. I froze, still clinging on tightly to his shoulders: I often felt like the world was falling away when I was with Jem, but this was more literal than I would have liked. The surge of dizziness I'd felt at the tea warehouse had returned in full force.

"Abby?" Jem asked, alarmed. He stared down into my eyes, lines of apprehension written into his face.

"It's—it's nothing," I lied. "I'm just a bit dizzy, that's all."

He touched my face. "You're exhausted," he observed, although I could just have easily said the same about him. "The shock has gotten to you. You need to rest."

"No," I argued weakly. "I want to visit Tessa—"

"Tessa will likely be unconscious for the foreseeable future," Jem said, quietly but firmly. "You need to give your own body time to heal. Come. I'll bring you to bed." He took my hand and guided me to my feet, keeping one hand on the small of my back to steady me. I began to protest, but he silenced me by putting a finger to my lips, his silver eyes soft. I reluctantly yielded to his touch and followed him across the corridor into my own bedroom. Now I was beginning to realize that I really _was_ tired: my eyelids felt heavy, my eyes as scratchy as sandpaper, and there was a bone-deep weariness in my limbs. Perhaps the fall from the balcony had injured me more than I'd thought.

I sat down on my bed in the same manner that Jem had been doing previously, pulling out the pins from my hair and letting it tumble down around my shoulders. My gear was stained with dried blood, and I tried to brush to off, unsure whether it was mine, Jem's, Will's, or Nate's.

Jem had drawn the curtains over my windows and, once the room was cast in darkness, handed me my witchlight stone, which flared up immediately at my touch. Now it was my turn to thank him, but my voice trailed off when I saw that he had turned slightly red, an effect that I instinctively knew wasn't because of the drug. "What is it?" I prodded gently, taking his hand in mine and pulling me down to him, as if we were about to kiss again. Our noses brushed together, but our lips hadn't quite met. Strange, how we were so close and yet I still felt as if we were miles apart.

"Do you…" Jem trailed off, and I could see the color in his face even in the faint light, "Do you require assistance getting dressed?"

I managed to smile even through my fatigue. "Does that question have some sort of ulterior motive, James?"

Jem quickly looked away from me, his eyes widening. "No, of course not," he stuttered. "I would not take advantage of you in such a way, Abby."

I grinned, feeling more rash and impulsive than normal. "Well," I breathed, "I was thinking I might take a bath, actually. I'm absolutely filthy."

Jem's reaction did not disappoint; I could feel his heart speed up against my hand and he froze, his breathing coming in short gasps. I was now awkwardly blushing as well—the night we had spent together didn't make the tension between us any less pronounced. If anything, it had only become heightened now that I knew what I had been missing out on.

"Very well," he murmured, and I felt his teeth graze my ear, "I shall fetch some water." But he never got the chance, for I had pushed him down onto the bed and was holding his face between my hands, careful not to put too much weight on his leg. In my mind's eye I saw the ashen face of the dead werewolf, his pupils ringed with silver, and blood splattering onto Jem's sleeve as he coughed loudly. He had tried to hide the horrors of his illness numerous times, but I had always seen through it to his hidden agony, both mentally and physically.

"Abby," Jem whispered, seeing the frenzied expression in my eyes. "We cannot…" But I could see that his resolve was wavering, his eyes darkening. His hands twisted through my hair, and his body had already arched up to mine.

"I almost lost you tonight," I whispered hoarsely. "And I realized just how… _fragile_ …life really is. Jem, I don't care about what's proper or what's not. I never have. All I know is that I love you, more than I ever thought I could love anyone, and I…I want you." It was a bold statement, but I said it as fiercely as I could, looking him directly in the eye.

Jem murmured something, very quietly, in Mandarin. At my quizzical glance, he smiled and stroked my face, answering, "It means that I want you too. No—it's more than that. I _need_ you."

And we fell back together onto the bed just as we had two nights ago, only this time it was my bed instead of his, and we weren't in a feverish heat like last time, all fire and fervency. It was slower and gentler, but no less passionate. Now Jem was almost shy, and his kisses were exploratory, as if he was savouring each one, storing them in his memory. I was the one leading him on this time, as my lips traced a pattern down his throat and over his chest…he shuddered, and one hand slid from my hair down to my back as he pressed his mouth to my shoulder, pushing aside my shirt—

And then there was a knock at the door, and we both jumped apart, his hair mussed, my heart pounding. I leapt to my feet, pulling Jem up with me as I did, knowing that if we made eye contact it would be the end of both of us. I quickly straightened out my clothes, hoping that our faces weren't too red.

"Miss Abby?" Sophie asked when she walked in, not looking at all surprised to see Jem there. "Mrs Branwell has asked me to check on you. Is there anything you require?"

I looked at Jem."Go to the infirmary," I instructed. "Go take care of Will. He needs you more than I do right now." I wasn't entirely sure of this, as I doubted Will was burning with desire for Jem, but there was no way we would be able to finish what we had started now.

"Are you sure?" Jem asked, and when I nodded firmly, he brushed his thumb along the back of my wrist once—the touch had become an unspoken gesture of reassurance—and reluctantly stepped away from me, greeting Sophie on the way out.

When he had disappeared, I sat back down on the bed, my exhaustion all but vanished. "If you wouldn't mind, Sophie," I said thoughtfully, "I was going to get some water for a bath, but that idea was postponed…"

* * *

Like the excellent ladies' maid she was—I knew I would never get used to the whole idea of maids and servants; sometimes I felt as if I was trapped in a period film—Sophie ran the bathwater and then helped me into my nightgown when I got out, brushing the tangles from my hair until it was sleek and shiny again. Although it was the end of July, the room was still cold, and she helpfully tended to the fireplace until the walls were shimmering with warm golden light. I watched her bustle around the room with half-closed eyes, her dark hair tied up into a bun at the nape of her neck. I wanted to thank her, to tell her just how much she deserved someone like Gideon—or rather, how much Gideon deserved _her_ —but I was more tired than I thought I was, and just as I was about to speak I slipped into dreams, unsure whether she was still in the room or it was just my imagination.

When I opened my eyes, the fire had long died, leaving only glowing embers scattered here and there among the ashes. Sunshine had replaced the firelight, and the clock ticking in the corner showed that it was just before noon.

I climbed out of bed and quickly changed into the dress that Sophie had left lying out for me on the blankets, trying not to think about Jem's hands on me the night before. I drew my hair up into a messy bun and tiptoed out in the corridor, crossing over into Jem's room. The bed was smooth and untouched, the covers drawn up neatly. I placed a hand on the pillow and frowned; it was cold. Jem evidently hadn't slept here last night.

As I left his room, I met Sophie coming up the stairs with a breakfast tray. "Master Jem is in the infirmary with Mr Herondale," she explained, correctly guessing who I had been searching for. "Miss Tessa has not awoken yet."

I felt a spark of worry for Tessa. I hadn't spoken to her much at all lately, not since we had returned from Yorkshire, and I felt guilty. "Will she be all right?"

"I hope so," Sophie answered briskly as she led me back into my own bedroom, placing the tray down on the bedside table where I attacked it hungrily. "Mrs Branwell has called in one of the Silent Brothers to examine her condition."

I remembered her bravely standing up to Nate—her own brother—and the terror in her eyes when she thought that Will was dead. She had played her part perfectly, I thought, and yet she had been the one to suffer the most.

Sophie clucked disapprovingly as she examined my dress, causing me to snap back to reality. "If you keep tying them like that, miss, they'll just fall right off you someday."

"They already have," I mumbled, thinking of the time when Jem had had to tie up the back of my dress in the carriage; it had been the first occurrence I'd consciously realized I was beginning to think of him as more than a friend. Sophie gave a startled gasp, and I nearly dropped my scone in bewilderment, wondering crazily for a moment if she could read minds.

"You must not let that happen again, Miss Abby," she urged me, a hint of reproach to her voice.

"Or what?" I asked her, grinning crookedly. "I'll bring scandal to the Institute? Maybe from now on I'll ask everyone to refer to me as 'The Girl Who Cannot Keep Her Dress On'."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Sophie exclaimed, a scowl crossing her face. "You sound like Mr Herondale." Throwing her hands up, she gathered the now-empty breakfast tray and left my room, but I caught the ghost of a smile on her face as she did. It suddenly struck me that I barely noticed her scar at all anymore.

As soon as she was gone, I went over to my wardrobe and picked up my purse from where it was hanging on the handle. I hadn't touched it in days, perhaps even weeks, and I found myself brushing away dust from the zipper as I opened it, my hand first closing around my wallet, which was empty save for a five-dollar bill, and then my house key. I absentmindedly traced the shape of the key in my palm, feeling the cold metal press into my skin. It was strange, how different I felt holding it now. As if it was the key to a stranger's house. In some ways I felt so far removed from my life in 1978 that it was difficult to believe I had ever lived there at all. And yet I knew I would never feel like I truly belonged in 1878. I was suspended between two worlds, unable to completely sever my ties to either of them.

It took me a moment to realize I was clutching the key so hard it had dug into my skin; I dropped it onto the table with a clatter, impatiently wiping away the blood and reaching into my purse again to pull out the picture of my parents. I stared at my mother's face for a long moment, feeling a sharp pang of longing, before turning to my father. I had never before realized how young he looked—how young _both_ of them looked. They were still children when I was born. And, like me, they had been thrown into a situation beyond their control. Mom hadn't wanted to lose the love of her life while she was still a teenager and be forced to raise me on her own. Dad hadn't wantedto leave the Clave; hadn't wanted to be stripped of his Marks and cast out into the mundane world, cut off from his parents and severed from his _parabatai._ And yet, despite the similar situation I now found myself in, I knew I couldn't ask Jem to do the same for me.

 _If my parents could brave through the worst moments of their lives,_ I thought, _then so can I._ I was their daughter, after all. And, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I no longer saw myself as simply Jonathan Cartwright's shy, mousy daughter, but as Abby Cartwright, a bridge to both the mundane and the Shadow worlds. I had the qualities of both races in my blood. I could embrace the side of me that had always and would always be a Shadowhunter, but I didn't have to completely shun the mundane world, either.

Did all children of Shadowhunters and mundanes feel like this? Did _Will_ feel like this? He also had a father who had left the Clave to marry a mundane woman, after all. Perhaps we had more in common than either of us cared to admit, and I wished I could ask him about it. But that was impossible. Whether or not he actually hated me, I had no doubt that I would be met with scorn either way. "It is better for you if we are not friends, Abby,"he had said—and if being 'friends' with him meant that I would be constantly mocked and derided, I wanted nothing to do with Will Herondale. How Jem and Tessa managed to put up with him was one of life's great mysteries.

* * *

I nearly ran up to the infirmary that afternoon, anxious and eager to see Tessa. When I entered, my first sight was of Jem, still dressed in his gear, sitting on the bed next to Will, who was tossing and turning about and muttering in Welsh under his breath. Perhaps it was better nobody could understand what he was saying, I decided, but still felt a pang of sympathy—even unconscious, he looked like he was in severe pain.

Tessa was lying in a bed closer to the windows, her brown hair fanning across the pillow. She was wearing a white nightdress, washing out her already pale skin. Charlotte was sitting in a chair pulled up next to the bed, her hands knotted in her lap. Brother Enoch was standing on the opposite side of her. Both of them turned when I hurried up; I answered Charlotte's inquiries about my own health as best as I could before deflecting the conversation to Tessa. "How is she?" I asked nervously; I had never seen her look so pale.

 _The wound to her head is superficial,_ Brother Enoch said, which did little to alleviate my uneasiness.

"But she fainted," Charlotte protested. "With a blow to her head—"

_She fainted from repeated shocks. Her brother died in her arms, you said? And she may have thought Will was dead as well. You said he covered her with his body when the explosion occurred. If he had died, he would have given his life for her. That is quite a burden to bear._

Charlotte and I exchanged a troubled glance. "But do you think she'll be well again?"

_When her body and spirit have rested, she will wake. I cannot say when that will be._

"My poor Tessa," murmured Charlotte, gently pushing her hair back away from her face like a mother would. "She has no one in the world at all now…"

 _Nor does Abigail,_ reminded Brother Enoch. _She will be fine, Charlotte. She is wounded significantly more emotionally than she is physically._ He pulled up his hood and drifted across the room to Will, who, I supposed, was in more dire need of medical attention. I met Jem's gaze for a moment, and his eyes were wide and worried. He looked sick, but I knew it was because of Will and not his illness. I wanted to go over to him, but something held me back.

With a great sigh, Charlotte stood up and put her hand on my shoulder. "Try speaking to her," she suggested. "Brother Enoch said there is a chance that she is able to hear us."

I nodded and took the chair that she had just vacated, leaning forward to take Tessa's hand in my own. Her fingers were cold, a weak pulse beating in her wrist. She didn't move, but I thought I felt the pressure on my hand increase slightly, as if she was somehow aware of my presence. "Tess," I said quietly, lowering my voice so the others were out of earshot, "Whether you can hear me or not, there's something I want you to know, something I should have told you a long time ago." I paused. "You are the closest friend I've ever had, and one of the only people I can completely trust. I care very much about you, and please know that you can talk to me about anything. I…I'm sorry if this sounds silly—I'm not good with words like you are—but you're truly my best friend, and I'll be right here if you ever need me. And I have a lot to tell you when you wake up—"

A harsh cry of pain from Will startled me, and I twisted around in the chair just as Tessa's eyelids fluttered. He was lying on his stomach, the covers drawn back to his waist and exposing his bare torso, but I had no desire to look at him. I was watching Jem instead, whose face was whiter than ever, his eyebrows knit together as if he was experiencing his _parabatai's_ pain himself. "Will," he was saying anxiously. "Will, are you sure you won't have another pain-killing rune?"

"No—more," Will groaned. "Just—get it over with."

Brother Enoch was holding a pair of sharp metal tweezers; I winced as he drove them down into Will's skin, the blood spilling over his side and staining the white sheets. Jem shuddered as Enoch pulled out a jagged piece of metal from where it was embedded in Will's back—the remnants of where he had thrown himself over Tessa to save her from the automaton's explosion.

"Grip my fingers," Jem urged, taking Will's hand in his own. "It will help the pain. There are only a few more."

"Easy—for you to say," Will managed to choke out, but at least this time he didn't cry out when Enoch drove the tweezers into his back again. I averted my eyes, unable to bear the sight, and stared fixedly at the wall until there was silence again. Tessa had shifted ever so slightly to the side, so that she was facing Will's bed, and I guessed that if she wasn't able to speak, she was conscious in some distant way. When I finally dared to look back, I saw that Brother Enoch was gone and Will had fallen asleep, his breathing slow and steady. Jem placed a glass of water on the table next to him before walking toward the infirmary doors, only pausing to turn in my direction with a silent question in his eyes. Somehow I knew that he wanted me to come with him; I gently placed Tessa's hand back at her side before standing up and hurrying towards Jem.

He was holding the door for me, and let it fall softly closed behind us as we headed down the hallway side by side, the backs of our hands just brushing together. "He'll be all right," I said soothingly; when had I suddenly been the one comforting everyone instead of the other way around?

Jem sighed, and I saw him reach up to touch his _parabatai_ rune. "I know," he acknowledged, but the concern still hadn't quite left his eyes. "The Angel knows I've seen him in worse situations—but the power of our binding is such that I share his burdens and his pain. If one of us is going through a difficult time, the other can sense it, feel it as if it was our own."

"Oh," I said quietly. Was that why Will often looked just as sick as Jem did? "And Tessa…"

"I expect she shall feel guilty that Will injured himself to protect her," Jem explained, but there was no blame in his voice. "I expect that he is going to have to convince her that it was his choice."

"Or not," I muttered.

Jem's lips twitched. "Well, I suppose there is no harm in being optimistic." We had reached his bedroom now, and I paused in front of it, unsure what he wanted, but he pulled me inside and closed the door behind us. He pressed me against the door, cupping my face in his hands and his eyes warm and soft. I smiled uncertainly at him, unused to his boldness—this was something I would have thought would be more in-character of Will—but I wasn't about to question it. My lips sought his, our bodies pressed so close together that the pendant was touching both of our throats, and when Jem pulled away slightly there was an imprint on his collarbone. "Your dress—" he began, but I waved his reservations away impatiently.

"—Is too bulky?" I asked. "Believe me, it's even more irritating when you actually have to wear it." I grinned slyly. "I can take it off if you want."

Jem flushed a bright shade of red. "Actually, I was going to apologize for crinkling it." He touched the shoulder, where the puffy sleeve had been unceremoniously pushed against the door until it was almost completely flat.

I shrugged. "The dress isn't foremost on my list of concerns, to be quite honest." My gaze moved down to his gear, where his and Will's dried blood stained the fabric. Before my rational mind could shoot down the idea, I heard myself asking, "Do you…require assistance getting dressed?"

Now Jem's face was so pink it was almost fuchsia. He swallowed, but his eyes met my own steadily as he said, "Does that question have some sort of ulterior motive, Abby?"

We were deliberately recreating our conversation from the previous night, and I could already feel my heart beating faster in anticipation. "It most certainly does," I replied as brazenly as I could, smirking up at him.

Jem wrapped me tightly in his arms, and just as we stumbled over to his bed there was an annoyed yowl from its depths and a grey shape shot out from under the covers. Church meowed angrily at us, upset at the disturbance of his nap. I immediately jumped away from him, remembering what had happened the last time I'd encountered him.

Jem chuckled in surprise, but I wasn't so amused. He scooped up Church and, carrying him under one arm, opened the door and placed him in the corridor before coming back inside. "I'd forgotten that he likes to do that," he said, a little breathlessly.

"First Sophie, now Church," I grumbled. "I'm beginning to think that someone is doing this on purpose."

"If that was the case, I think they would have been able to prevent—" Jem suddenly threw up his sleeve to his face, bent double in a severe coughing fit. I was at his side at once, putting my hand on his back and guiding him to the bed.

"I'll get some of the drug," I began, but Jem held me back, raising his arm now stained with blood and shaking his head.

"I took some this morning," he explained; the color that had just been so prominent in his face was fast draining out of it. "It is dangerous for me to take too much at once."

"So what can I do?" I asked urgently, seeing that his eyes were beginning to slide out of focus. "Jem? Jem, please answer me!"

"Stay with me. Please," he rasped, grasping at my wrist. "I just need to sleep…the encounter with Will was worse than I thought."

I had misinterpreted, then, his sick look in the infirmary, and his breathlessness when he'd been speaking to me. Jem hid the reality of his illness so well that sometimes it was a shock when he suddenly deteriorated like this, and I wondered just how much he was holding back.

He hadn't changed out of his gear from yesterday, and I reflected on the fact that I was, in fact, helping him get dressed, but an entirely different way from the one I had wanted. I was too worried to even feel remotely embarrassed or electrified as I peeled off his clothes, since he was by now too weak to do it himself, and helped him into a pair of brown trousers and a white shirt. Jem watched me with blank eyes, always keeping his hand in mine and occasionally breaking out into harrowing coughs. As if he was a child, I lay him down on the bed and pulled the covers over him, his eyelids closing against the pillow. I gently stroked his hair until he was asleep, his breathing evening out although it still rattled horribly, trying not to betray any outward signs of fear to him.

When I was certain that he was asleep, I washed the blood from his gear before hanging it over the back of his chair to dry. I wasn't certain what my next move should be—Jem had asked me to stay with him, but I didn't know whether he had meant just until he was asleep, or even longer than that. But I didn't want to leave him, not when he looked as vulnerable and delicate as he did now. I _couldn't_ leave him.

Very delicately, so as not to jostle him, I curled up in the space beside him, watching his eyelids flutter as he slept. I hoped he was losing himself in pleasant dreams. My dress was now becoming even more crinkled and flattered, but I didn't care. Reaching out my hand, I intertwined my fingers with his and, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon, closed my eyes against the bright sun, thinking of the time not so long ago that we had been in this very situation.

* * *

I woke up on several occasions after that, only catching slivers and glimpses of reality. At some point Jem's arms had unconsciously wrapped around me, and my leg was twined around his waist in a most improper way, our clothing sweaty and sticking to our bodies. Our faces were inches apart on the pillows, and although neither of us woke properly, we knew that the other was there. The sky outside gradually darkened, turning into night, and then eventually lightened again with dawn. I finally woke for good at mid-morning, dazed and disoriented. I'd been asleep for nearly eighteen hours, and my muscles were sore and cramped. But I wouldn't have changed it for the world.

When I rolled off the bed, Jem slowly sat up as well, blinking confusedly at me. "Abby?" he asked blearily, still half-asleep. "You stayed?"

"Of course," I said, sneaking a sip of water from his glass. My throat was so dry that it was painful, and my stomach was tense with hunger.

"I did not think you would want to," Jem said, almost musingly, but a beatific smile had spread from ear to ear.

I leaned over the bed to squeeze his hand once more before straightening up, smoothing out my now hopelessly wrinkled dress. "I hope Sophie hasn't been wondering where I am," I remarked, biting my lip. "Maybe she thinks I'm still in the infirmary. How…how are you feeling?"

"Much better," Jem reassured me. It was true: he looked much healthier, thankfully not as deathly pale as he had been earlier, and his eyes were bright and alert. "I fear that this is terribly improper," he teased. "Imagine what she or any of the others would say if they were to walk in now."

"It's positively scandalous," I grinned, almost giddy at his recovery. "But I think we passed that marker a very long time ago."

* * *

"We will almost certainly forfeit the Institute now," Charlotte sighed. We had all gathered in the infirmary again, standing over Tessa's bed. She was still asleep, as was Will a few beds over. His back was covered in bandages and there were several _iratzes_ on his neck. Sophie was hovering at the windows, pretending to dust them, but I could see her head swivel in our direction. "We have lost Nathaniel Gray as a source, one of our own has turned out to be a spy, and we are no closer to finding Mortmain than we were a fortnight ago."

"After all that we have done, have learned?" Jem asked. "The Clave will understand—"

"They will not," Charlotte said bleakly. "They are already at the end of their tether where I am concerned. I might as well march over to Benedict Lightwood's house and make over the Institute paperwork in his name. Have done with it."

I shifted uneasily from foot to foot, feeling queasy. What would happen if the Institute was placed into Benedict's hands? He would turn me over to Mortmain at once, and I had absolutely nowhere I could run; nowhere I could hide. But I didn't voice my dread to Charlotte: she had enough on her plate as it was.

"What does Henry say about all this?" Jem was asking.

"Oh, _Henry."_ She said the name like it was the source of all her burdens in the world. "I think he's just so shocked that one of his devices actually worked that he doesn't know what to do with himself. And he can't bear to come in here. He thinks it's his fault that Will and Tessa are hurt."

"Without that device we might all be dead, and Tessa in the hands of the Magister," Jem said gravely.

"You are welcome to explain that to Henry. I have given up the attempt."

"Charlotte…" Jem began, gently. "I know what people say. I know you've heard the cruel gossip. But Henry does love you. When he thought you were hurt, at the tea warehouse, he went almost mad. He threw himself against that machine—"

Her eyes had turned wet during his speech, and I quickly looked away. "James," she told him, patting his shoulder in a maternal sort of way, "I do appreciate your attempt to console me, but falsehoods never do anyone any good in the end. I long ago accepted that Henry loves his inventions first, and me second—if at all."

Now Jem rubbed his eyes, looking drained. "Charlotte…" he began, but before he could get a word out Sophie walked over to us, her expression unusually determined.

"Mrs Branwell," she said, almost sharply. "If I might speak to you for just a moment."

Charlotte looked just as world-weary as Jem did now. "Sophie…"

"Please, ma'am." I had never seen such intensity in Sophie's eyes, at least not when Gideon wasn't present, and after surveying her for a moment Charlotte appeared to be echoing my thoughts. "Very well. Come with me to the drawing-room." She stood up and, after touching Jem's shoulder and giving me a rare smile, followed Sophie out of the infirmary, the double doors swinging shut behind them.

I turned to Jem to ask him what he supposed that was all about, but he was staring at Will, an unfathomable look on his face. I could sense his desire to go sit with his _parabatai,_ but not wanting to leave me either. I had never and would never force him to choose between us, and so I lightly prodded him forward. "Go," I said, smiling. "I'll see you at dinner." It was an order, and my fingers brushed the skin just under the hem of his shirt. Jem gave a small start and glanced back at me, and I grinned wickedly, showing him what he was missing. Before he could say anything, I was already walking away, but as I passed her bed I thought I saw Tessa smiling as well.

* * *

I spent the remainder of the afternoon wandering around the Institute, trying not to think too much about anything in particular. I forced the worry about Jem's illness out of my mind, telling myself that this sort of thing happened to him all the time, as well as the anxiety about Charlotte losing the Institute. I knew that she and Henry could easily find somewhere else to live, and they would likely bring Sophie, Cyril and Bridget along with them, but what would become of Jem, Will, Tessa and I? If Henry wasn't able to use the crypt as his laboratory anymore, what would happen to his inventions? Would he even be able to continue working on the Portal? What if I was stuck in 1878 for the rest of my _life?_

But such thoughts were dangerous things, and in a desperate attempt to make myself forget about them I tried my hardest to occupy myself with menial tasks. I snuck some apples from the kitchen and went out to the stable to give them to Balios and Xanthos. When both horses grew tired of my presence I went back inside and upstairs to the music room, but all the notes I could get out of the piano were jarring and flat. It was only when I realized I was rearranging everything in the music room and tidying up like I had turned into Sophie that I finally gave up, spending the remainder of the day in the library reading books on the history of the Nephilim that I wasn't particularly interested in, sitting in the window seat and staring out at the courtyard to watch Cyril polish the carriage.

Jem appeared very restless at dinner; he was fidgeting around nervously and seemed preoccupied, barely touching his food. I wondered if something had happened with Will, but he could barely even speak to me: he mumbled that it had nothing to do with Will at all before standing up and hurrying out of the dining-room, leaving me gaping after him in astonishment. Had I done something wrong? Why was he so tense? I had never seen him like that before.

Now I had yet another thing to lose sleep over; I trudged to my room, dejected, and collapsed facedown on my bed, resisting the urge to scream as loudly as I could. I settled instead for grabbing one of my pillows and throwing it against the wall, where it sank to the ground with barely a sound. I waited for the frustrated, angry tears to come, but my eyes stayed dry. I knew I ought to go to bed, but I wasn't tired at all: sleeping for extended periods of time tended to do that to a person.

I had just reluctantly dragged myself to my feet to retrieve the pillow when there was a knock at my door. Relieved for a distraction, no matter how monotonous, I changed directions at once and hurried over, expecting it to be Sophie or Charlotte. But it was Jem, standing in the moonlight and looking as ethereal as ever. He was more agitated than I had ever seen him: beads of sweat were gathering on his brow and he was shifting around restlessly.

"Jem!" I exclaimed, gladly holding open the door for him. "What is it? You look upset."

He was wringing his hands together; he looked almost nauseous. "Abby, I—" he began, and suddenly broke off, his voice tortured. "Forgive me. I never intended to be so forward." And suddenly he had disappeared, running off down the corridor. I was left staring after him in shock again, and by the time I had finally recovered myself he had vanished.

I called after him, but there was no response. There was no telling where he was now, and when I was forced to accept the fact that he wasn't going to come back, I retreated back into my room, flopping down onto the bed.

This time I actually _did_ bury my face in the blankets and scream as loudly as I could.

* * *

Needless to say, I slept very little that night, tossing and turning fitfully. None of my dreams had much substance, and faces and shapes floated by without giving me enough time to see who and what they were. When I awoke for good, it was very early morning, and the birds hadn't even started singing yet. I didn't want to wake Sophie in case she was still asleep, so I threw caution to the winds and changed into my fighting gear. I knew that no one would bat an eyelid if I showed up wearing it, and as far as I was aware I wasn't planning to leave the Institute today.

After putting up my hair and splashing cold water on my face, I headed up to the infirmary, curious to see if Tessa was awake yet. Sophie was already there straightening things out, and of course Will was gone. Truthfully, I was surprised that he had stayed in one place for that long.

"Good morning, miss," Sophie greeted me as she fluffed up the pillows on one of the beds. "It's a good thing you're here—I was just about to wake Miss Tessa."

I walked over to Tessa's bed and put a hand on her shoulder, shaking it softly. "Tess?" I asked, and her eyes opened, looking around confusedly before landing on me. "Tess, you have to wake up now. You've been in here for days."

"I have?" she asked, slowly sitting up and staring around the infirmary. "It feels like it has been merely hours…"

"Mrs Branwell wanted me to bring you back to your room," Sophie said, bustling over to us to help Tessa out of bed.

"Is Will all right?" Tessa asked, trying and failing to conceal her worry. She leaned on me while Sophie slid slippers onto her feet. "I woke for a bit yesterday and saw them taking the metal out of his back. It looked dreadful."

I hid my grin; so she _had_ been awake. It wasn't just my imagination.

Sophie laughed. "Looked worse than it was, then. Mr Herondale barely let them _iratze_ him before he left. Off into the night to do devil knows what." We began to shuffle out of the room, Sophie and I on either side of Tessa, supporting her weight.

" _Was_ he?" Tessa asked thoughtfully. "I could have sworn I spoke to him last night..."

"You must have dreamed it," Sophie said firmly, but I wasn't so sure. We were silent all the way back to her room, where Tessa slumped into her armchair and helped herself to the plate of sandwiches and tea on her bedside table while Sophie swept up the fireplace.

"I was sorry to hear about your brother, miss," she said. I wasn't sure what my feelings were about Nate, but I perched on the edge of Tessa's bed and nodded, hoping I looked appropriately sorry.

"You don't have to say that, Sophie," Tessa replied quietly. "I know it was his fault, really, about Agatha—and Thomas—"

"But he was your brother. Blood mourns blood."

Tessa blinked several times in rapid succession, and I could tell she was trying not to cry. My heart went out to her, and as a distraction I quickly said, "I don't think Will is going to stay away too long. He'll come back soon enough."

"Yes," Sophie agreed, straightening up to sweep the remaining residue into her pail. "Mr Herondale always returns, even if no one wants him to." She suddenly gasped, putting her hand over her mouth and looking embarrassed. "I am very sorry, miss," she apologized profusely. "I did not mean to sound so brash."

Tessa smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "Don't worry about it, Sophie," she said. "Will can drive even the sanest person to madness."

But Sophie still looked guilty, and quickly excused herself after that, hurrying out of the room so she wouldn't be able to "put her foot in her mouth again," as she called it.

"I saw her with Gideon Lightwood the other day," Tessa confided when she was gone, unable, it seemed, to keep this bit of news to herself. "He was…well, he was acting like her suitor."

"Was he?" I asked vaguely.

"Yes. I'm worried about her," Tessa said in a low voice, leaning towards me. "If Gideon is putting on airs—"

"He isn't," I interrupted, thinking of the way he had been looking at Sophie when I'd seen them in the corridor. "He is truly…taken by her. I'm sure he would even turn against his father for her."

Tessa looked at me sharply. "Does that please you, Abby?" she asked. "Now that Sophie isn't…" She trailed off, but I knew what she had been going to say: _Now that Sophie isn't in love with Jem._

"I guess so," I said truthfully. "It takes away a lot of the guilt, at least."

"And…how _is_ the relationship between you and Jem?" Tessa inquired. There was a time where she would have apologized for interfering in my affairs, but we were too close now for that.

I couldn't stop myself from grinning wryly. "It has long surpassed the bounds of respectability and turned into indecency. I fear I shall be smote if we continue it."

Tessa went slightly pink. "So you do not have a chaperone, then?"

I was so startled that I laughed out loud. "We have never had a chaperone, Tess. We…we've done everything."

She blinked, and hysteria bubbled up inside me. She honestly didn't _know_. It was times like these I was reminded more than ever that this was the Victorian era. "Everything?" she asked quizzically.

I was seriously debating whether or not to elaborate when the door opened again and Sophie returned to gather up the empty plate and kettle. "So," I said slyly, abruptly changing the subject, "How are things between you and Will?"

Tessa gave me a baleful glare and Sophie looked up, shocked, but seeming to remember that she had misspoken earlier, kept her mouth shut. "They are as fine as one can be with Will," Tessa said stiffly.

But I pressed on. "He protected you from that automaton. I know he cares about you more than he lets on. You went to Benedict Lightwood's ball with him, didn't you? That must have been…interesting."

"It was fascinating," Tessa echoed, but now she didn't look as if she was thinking about Will at all. I saw her eyes begin to shine with tears again, and knew she was trying to hold them back. "It was difficult to concentrate on Will when Nate was fondling me—Jessamine. Well—I suppose it doesn't matter now…now that he's dead." And she put her face in her hands.

Sophie shot me a reproving look as she dashed over to Tessa, murmuring reassurances in her ear. I knelt down in front of the armchair, gently prying her hands away. Tessa's eyes were red, her face streaked with tears. "I'm sorry," I told her fervently. "I didn't mean to—"

She shook her head. "It is not your fault, Abby. It is my own for speaking of Nate." I hugged her as tightly as I could while Sophie rubbed her back soothingly. I had never seen Tessa cry before; I knew that composure and pride were both important to her.

"Delayed shock," Sophie whispered to me. "She just needs to let it out and she'll be fine."

When Tessa's sobs had ceased, when she had wiped the last of the tears from her face with a handkerchief, Sophie and I helped her out of her nightgown and into a pretty violet dress. Tessa appeared to have gone numb, which made it easier for us to sit her down in front of the vanity table, Sophie braiding flowers into her hair while I brushed it. None of us spoke for a long time, and when Tessa finally broke the silence her voice was subdued. "Thank you," she said. "I am forever indebted to both of you. I never believed I would find such good friends—not just here, but anywhere."

Now Sophie had to dry her eyes with her apron. "You are too kind to me, Miss Tessa."

"It's true," Tessa said stubbornly. "Gid—any man would be lucky to have you, Soph. And you are a wonderful companion and confidante, Abby."

I ruffled her hair. "You too, Tess."

Seeing her job was done, Sophie left not long after, and I followed her, wanting to give Tessa a chance to mourn Nate privately. As I crossed the hall to my room, Sophie smiled at me almost shyly. "Miss Tessa is right," she said. "You are a lovely girl. I wish you and Master Jem all the happiness in the world."

My heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Sophie," I said quietly, and she continued off down the corridor. I had barely touched the handle on my door before Jem himself appeared next to me. He looked more composed than he had the previous evening, though still pale, as if he was steeling himself for something difficult. "Jem," I breathed. "Come in. Or are you just going to run away again?"

He didn't laugh, and my grin disappeared. "What's wrong? Are you well? Should I get—"

"No," Jem said; he looked positively seasick. Without even glancing up and down the corridor to make sure we were alone, he took me by the hand and pulled me into my bedroom, shutting the door behind us. I stood there, baffled, as he began to pace up and down the length of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Jem, please tell me what is bothering you," I begged. "If it's not your illness, and it isn't Will, what is it? Are you upset that Charlotte might lose the Institute? I'm a bit nervous about that too—I mean, I'd have nowhere to go and Benedict would immediately give me to Mortmain, but—"

Jem halted in the middle of the floor, spinning around to face me. In his grey waistcoat, he looked like a ghost, and I wondered, stupidly, if he was even real at all. "You needn't worry about that," he said, and this time his voice didn't waver. "I would never let you out of my sight if I could. You will always have me. Abby…" He dropped to one knee in front of me so that he was staring up at me from under his silvery hair, and took both of my hands in his. "You have given me so much, so incredibly much. I would do anything you requested of me, and I love you more than any words in any language could ever properly describe." He took a deep, shuddering breath, sliding the Carstairs ring from his finger and holding it out to me. "I have wanted to ask this for days, and it was only now that I finally gathered up the courage to speak it aloud. My question is this: Abby Cartwright, will you marry me?"

I stood rooted to the spot, my brain frozen in astonishment. Never before had I been so completely and utterly stunned. "Marry you?" I repeated dumbly. "Jem…but we are only sixteen!"

"I am seventeen," he reminded me; his face had fallen slightly, and his hands were trembling. "I shall be of age soon, but I do not even know if I shall make it to that. I have asked so much of you, and I hope you will forgive that I am asking you to make yet another sacrifice—the greatest one of all, to tie yourself to a dying boy at such a young age. But…I know that our time together is limited on both fronts, and I can only wish to become entwined with you in every way possible. I promise to give everything about myself to you, Abby, everything you want, everything I _am_ …" His voice was cracking, and now his entire body was shaking madly. He believed that my answer was going to be no.

"Jem," I said. It was all I _could_ say. It took me a moment to realize that I was quivering just as much as he was.

"It is a no, then," he said, in a remarkably steady voice. He dropped my hands, letting them fall to my sides, and bowed his head so I couldn't see his expression.

"I never said that!" I exclaimed, more vehemently than I intended, and I quickly lowered my voice. "Jem, I…I was just overwhelmed. I never expected that you would even want to marry me." He slowly raised his head, hope dawning in his eyes like the sun breaking over the horizon, and in that moment I completely forgot about the Portal and my life in 1978. The only thing that was important was the present, and in this present was Jem, and I would give up everything I had to be with him, no matter how long or short that period of time was. I took the ring from his fingers and slid it onto my own hand. "My answer is yes. Yes, I will marry you. Today, if you want—"

"You…you are certain?" he asked, slowly pushing himself to his feet. His eyes were shining as he stared at his family ring on my finger. "I would not want to force you into a marriage—"

"James," I insisted, and took his face in my hands. "You aren't forcing me into anything. I _want_ to be your wife. I _want_ to wake up next to you every morning and face the world together. You said that you would give me everything of yourself—well, I would give you everything of myself as well. I already have."

He kissed me so heatedly and so deeply that I felt lightheaded and breathless, his hands resting on the curve of my waist, fitting perfectly there. "I cannot believe this," he murmured once he had drawn back, staring into my eyes as if they held all the world's wonders. "In my wildest dreams I did not think that this was possible…"

"It _is_ possible," I said, and he gave a breathless laugh as I kissed him this time, only pulling away when I was dizzy from lack of oxygen.

"But I want to do things the right way," Jem insisted, leaning his forehead against mine. "The proper way. I want to marry you before we…procure the benefits of being husband and wife."

"You mean _again,"_ I teased before turning solemn. "Are you saying that you…regret the night we spent together? Do you regret what we did?"

Now it was his turn to reassure me. "Of course not," he said, softly rubbing his thumb across my cheek. "It was truly the best night I have ever experienced, Abby, and I would not take it back for anything. But I was raised in an entirely different era than you were, and doing such things is not…recommended, even when the couple is engaged."

"Then I shall comply with your wishes," I told him firmly. This was classic Jem, chivalrous to a fault. He believed that he was ruining my virtue. I didn't have the heart to tell him that technically, he already had, and any further dalliances would not affect that fact in any way. "And I will marry you anytime."

"Perhaps we should wait until we know the fate of the Institute before telling the others," Jem said, his hand ghosting up from my waist to my shoulder. I shivered. "If Charlotte loses it, you and I can move to Idris. Mortmain could not find you there. My uncle would surely know of us a place for us, and likely Will as well. But obviously, I would prefer to stay here."

I thought of living on my own with Jem, exploring Alicante and hopefully searching for a cure there while we lived as newlyweds, finding out all we could about each other. There was still so much I didn't know about him—like how he felt about his uncle, for instance. But instead of asking that question, I said, "What about Tessa? Where will she go? She is a warlock…"

Jem's face darkened. "I do not know," he said after another moment. "Perhaps—" But he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Reluctantly, I untangled myself from his embrace and went to open it, revealing Tessa herself. I blushed, hoping she hadn't heard the last part of our conversation, but there was no suspicion at all in her face.

"Charlotte has called us down to the drawing-room," she explained. Her voice was calm and her eyes dry; she did not look as if she had ever been crying. "Will has returned, and she wishes to have a meeting."


	27. Twenty-Seven

**A** warm fire was blazing in the grate; I had to fan myself to keep from melting into a puddle on the floor. It was the height of summer, and yet Sophie insisted on making the Institute a hundred degrees warmer than it already was. Granted, there was a chill about the place that never quite seemed to disappear, but I would have gladly welcomed it if it meant that I wouldn't die of heatstroke.

Will was sprawled in the armchair, soaking wet and looking as if he had just walked a mile in the rain. He sat up straight when he saw Tessa; it was like Jem and I weren't even present. I'd never seen such blatant devotion on his face before, and I wondered if this was what I looked like with Jem. Charlotte was sitting behind the desk, her face grave, and Henry was leaning against her chair protectively. I felt like the ring newly resting on my finger was obvious, that everyone's eyes were drawn to it, but nobody aside from Jem was even giving me a second glance. I noticed he barely glanced away from me, and he appeared to be glowing, as if some spark had ignited in him from within.

 _Engaged._ I still couldn't believe it had actually happened; everything was taking on a dreamlike quality now, as it had when I'd first leapt through the Portal and found myself in London.

"Hallo, Will," Jem said as we took a seat next to each other on the sofa. We weren't touching, but we were sitting together closer than decorum allowed. Tessa stayed near the door, as if she wasn't sure whether to go over to Will or not. "Sure it was a good idea to spend all night out in the rain when you're still healing?"

"I am quite sure," Will answered, finally looking away from Tessa. "I had to walk. To clear my head."

Jem seemed doubtful. "And is your head clear now?"

"Like crystal." There was an electrical tension in the air between Will and Tessa that was impossible not to sense. It had always been like that, I supposed, but now there was something different about it, maybe even stronger. If the love between Jem and I was steady and unwavering, I thought, then the …whatever it _was_ between Tessa and Will was passionate and fiery, like a brightly burning candle leaping higher and higher into a darkened room.

"We are all here, then," Charlotte was saying. She refused to meet anyone's eyes as she announced, "As you probably know, we are near the end of the two-week period granted to us by Consul Wayland. We have not discovered the whereabouts of Mortmain. According to Enoch, the Silent Brothers have examined Nathaniel Gray's body and learned nothing from it, and as he is dead, we can learn nothing from him."

I watched Tessa closely, gauging her reaction, but she stayed quiet and resolute. "So what are you going to do, Charlotte?" she asked. "Tell the Consul about Benedict Lightwood?"

"I do not think that is a good idea," Jem spoke up, and all heads turned to him. "He has already made it quite clear that if we go to the Clave, he will tell them about Abby. She is already in danger—"

I took a deep breath. "I'm willing to take that risk," I said determinedly. "If it means Charlotte gets to keep the Institute—"

"No." This objection did not come from Jem, but from Will, who was staring at me with something that curiously wasn't disdain in his eyes. "Benedict shall ensure that Tessa is captured as well as Abby if such a plan is enacted. I think that if we went to the Consul instead of the Clave, we could certainly get Benedict taken out of the running for leadership of the Institute. Any ramblings he may have about Abby will be dismissed, if he is disgraced in other ways. The Institute is secure with us, and we cannot allow it to be taken away. Where else will Tessa and Abby be safe?"

"All of that is true, Will, and of course I will go the Consul," Charlotte agreed. "But as an ordinary Shadowhunter, not as head of the Institute."

"But why, Charlotte?" Jem asked. "You excel at your work—"

"Do I?" she retorted. "For the second time I have not noted a spy under my own roof; Will and Tessa easily evaded my guardianship to attend Benedict's party; our plan to capture Nate, which we never shared with the Consul, went awry, leaving us with a potentially important witness dead—"

"Lottie!" Henry exclaimed, but Charlotte was unapologetic.

"I am not fit to run this place," she said. "Benedict was right…I will of course try to convince the Consul and Clave of his guilt. Someone else will run the Institute. It will not be Benedict, I hope, but it will not be me, either—"

Sophie dropped the hot poker into the fireplace. "Mrs Branwell! You can't resign, ma'am. You—you simply can't."

"Sophie," Charlotte told her gently. "Wherever we go after this, wherever Henry and I set up our household, we will bring you—"

"It isn't that. Miss Jessamine—she were—I mean, she was telling the truth. If you go to the Clave like this, you'll be playing into Mortmain's plans."

"What makes you say that?" Charlotte asked.

"I don't—I don't know exactly," Sophie said, staring at the floor. "But I know it's true."

"Sophie?" Now everyone was staring at her, Will not even bothering to conceal his narrowed eyes.

Tessa jumped to her defense. "Sophie's not lying," she explained. "She knows because—because we overheard Gideon and Gabriel speaking of it in the training room."

"And you only now decided to mention it?" Will looked suspicious.

"Be quiet, Will," Tessa snapped. "If you—"

"I've been stepping out with him," Sophie burst out. "With Gideon Lightwood. Seeing him on my days off. He told me. He heard his father laughing about it. They knew Jessamine was found out. They were hoping you'd go to the Clave. I should've said something, but it seemed like you didn't want to go to them anyways, so I…"

"Stepping out?" Henry interrupted; he was looking at Sophie as if he had never properly seen her before. "With _Gideon Lightwood?"_

"I know what Mortmain is holding over Mr Lightwood too," Sophie continued. "Gideon only just found out. His father doesn't know he knows."

"Well, dear God, girl, don't just stand there," Henry said. "Tell us."

"Demon pox," whispered Sophie, looking mortified. "Mr Lightwood's got it, has had for years, and it'll kill him in a right couple of months if he doesn't get the cure. And Mortmain said he can get it for him."

So Barbara Lightwood _had_ told me the truth, was my first thought as the room erupted in shouts. Charlotte leapt out of her chair and ran to Sophie; Henry followed her; Tessa, Jem and I stayed frozen while Will jumped out of his own armchair and began to dance, his blue eyes sparkling madly as he sang:

" _Demon pox, oh, demon pox,_  
_Just how is it acquired?_  
_One must go down to the bad part of town_  
_Until one is very tired._  
_Demon pox, oh, demon pox,_  
_I had it all along—_  
_No, not the pox, you foolish blocks,_  
_I mean this very song—_  
_For I was right, and you were wrong!"_

I burst out laughing, covering my mouth with my arm to stifle my snorts. I'd never seen Will this jubilant before. It was exhilarating to watch.

But Charlotte wasn't so amused. " _Will!"_ she shouted over the noise. "Have you LOST YOUR MIND? CEASE THAT INFERNAL RACKET! Jem—"

Jem was at his _parabatai's_ side in an instant, clapping his hand over Will's mouth. "Do you promise to be quiet?" he demanded.

When Will nodded, he cautiously took his hand away. "A demon pox on all your houses!" he announced, yawning hugely. Tessa stared at him.

"Oh, God," Jem muttered under his breath, taking a seat next to me again. "Weeks of pox jokes. We're for it now."

"It can't be true," Charlotte said for the hundredth time. "It's simply— _demon pox?"_ She said the words the way most people might say "unicorns".

"How do we know Gideon did not lie to Sophie?" Jem asked mildly. "I am sorry, Sophie," he said, looking apologetically at her. "I hate to have to say it, but the Lightwoods are not trustworthy…"

"Gideon was telling the truth," I confirmed, smiling at Sophie. "Benedict does have demon pox. When I was at Lightwood House, Barbara Lightwood—well, her ghost, at least—told me. I didn't say anything because I couldn't be sure if she was lying or not—"

"Abby!" Charlotte exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. "Were you ever planning to tell us this at all?"

"Well—maybe," I replied, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, but I couldn't be sure—"

"Wait," Jem interjected. "Will—what are the symptoms of demon pox?"

"Quite nasty," Will answered, clearly relishing his victory. "It begins with a shield-shaped rash on one's back, and spreads over the body, creating cracks and fissures in the skin—"

Jem sucked in a sharp breath. "I—I shall return in just a moment. By the Angel—" He stood up and ran out of the room, leaving everyone staring after him in astonishment.

"You don't think he has demon pox, do you?" Henry asked.

"Oh, shut up, Henry," Will said, glowering at him.

 _That would be unfortunate, since he could have passed it on to me,_ I wanted to say, but stayed quiet. Jem rushed back in a moment later, holding a piece of parchment in his hands. "I got this from the Silent Brothers when Abby and I went to see Jessamine," he explained, and I remembered his request to look up a Shadowhunter's records in the archives. "It is the report on Barbara Lightwood's death. After Charlotte told us that her father had never turned Silas Lightwood over to the Clave, I thought I would inquire of the Silent Brothers if there was another manner in which Mrs Lightwood had died. To see if Benedict had also lied that she had died of grief."

"And had he?" questioned Tessa.

Jem nodded. "Yes. In fact, she cut her own wrists. But there was more." He began to read aloud from the paper. _"A shield-shaped rash, indicative of the heraldic marks of astriola, upon the left shoulder."_

" _Astriola!"_ Will cried. "That _is_ demon pox." He glared at Jem. "You had evidence that demon pox existed and you didn't mention it to me! _Et tu, Brute!"_ And he proceeded to snatch the paper out of Jem's hand and hit him over the head with it.

"Ouch!" Now it was Jem's turn to frown at Will as he rubbed his head. "The words meant nothing to me! I assumed it a minor sort of ailment. It hardly seemed as if it were what killed her. She slit her wrists, but if Benedict wanted to protect his children from the fact that their mother had taken her own life—"

"By the Angel," Charlotte murmured. "No wonder she killed herself. _Because her husband gave her demon pox. And she knew it."_ She turned to Sophie. "Does Gideon know of this?"

Sophie shook her head. "No."

"So how is Benedict still alive?" demanded Tessa. "Should the disease not have killed him by now?"

"If Mortmain has a cure—" began Charlotte.

"There is no curing demon pox," I said, thinking back to my conversation with Barbara. "Mortmain's been lying to him. He must just be giving Benedict drugs to—to slow it, or something. Not to stop it."

"We must contact him immediately," Will cut in. "Charlotte must play on his vanity. He is too sure of getting the Institute. She must tell him that though the Consul's official decision is not scheduled until Sunday, she has realized that it is he who will come out ahead, and she wishes to meet with him and make peace before it happens."

"To what end?" Henry asked, his voice unusually sharp. "Sending Charlotte to confront Benedict accomplishes what, exactly?"

"Blackmail," Will said, his mouth tight. "Mortmain may not be in our grasp, but Benedict is, and for now that may be enough. We're not trying to get rid of him. We want him to throw his full support behind Charlotte. To withdraw his challenge and to declare her fit to run the Institute. His followers will be at a loss; the Consul will be satisfied. We hold the Institute. And more than that, we can force Benedict to tell us what he knows of Mortmain—his location, his secrets, everything."

"What will the Clave do to him?" I couldn't help but ask. "If they find out, that is."

"The Silent Brothers will remove that which makes him Nephilim," Will answered in a hard voice. "His sons will become mundane, their Marks stripped. The name of Lightwood will be stricken from the rolls of Shadowhunters. It will be the end of the Lightwood name among Nephilim. There is no greater shame. It is a punishment even Benedict will fear."

"And if he does not?" Jem said quietly.

"Then, we are no worse off, I suppose," Charlotte sighed. "We will call on Benedict. There is no time to send a proper message ahead; it will have to be something of a surprise. Now, where are the calling cards?"

Will started, evidently taken aback. "You've decided on my plan, then?"

"It's my plan now." Charlotte was steadfast. "You may accompany me, Will, but you will follow my lead, and there will be no talk of demon pox until I say so."

He looked horrified. "But—but…"

Jem grinned and affectionately kicked Will on the leg. "Oh, leave it."

"She's _annexed_ my plan!" he spluttered.

"Will," Tessa interjected. Her lips were twitching. "Do you care more about the plan being enacted or about getting credit for it?"

"That," he said. "The second one."

"William," Charlotte warned sternly, "This will be either on my terms or not at all."

He sighed theatrically, pushing himself to his feet. "All right, then, Charlotte. Do you intend for all of us to go?"

"You and Tessa, certainly. We need you as witnesses regarding the party." She turned to the rest of us. "Jem, Abby, Henry, there is no need for you to go, and we require at least one of you to remain and guard the Institute."

"Darling…" Henry began.

Seemingly surprised, Charlotte looked up at him. "Yes?"

He gently touched her arm. "You're sure you don't want me to come with you?" I smiled, pleased to see them so happy together.

Charlotte shook her head. "Quite sure, Henry; Jem and Abby aren't technically adults, and to leave them here alone—not that they aren't capable—will only add fuel to Benedict's fire of complaints. But thank you."

Tessa reached for the doorknob. "I'd best fetch my hat and gloves," she said to no one in particular before slipping out of the room.

Will bounded after her, and I was suddenly struck by how joyful he was, like a dog running to its owner. As Sophie, Charlotte and Henry filed out of the room, I exchanged a wide-eyed look with Jem; it was clear that he was just as puzzled by his _parabatai's_ behavior. "I'd best go after him," he whispered. "He looks like he could use an _iratze_ or two."

I nodded and squeezed his hand tightly before letting go, since we were the only ones left in the drawing-room. Jem leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, his eyes glowing as he looked once more at the ring on my finger. And then he was gone.

* * *

When I had gathered my composure, I rose and walked over to the window, lifting up the heavy curtains and watching the rain outside pound against the glass. But even the weather couldn't dampen my mood. I was glad I was alone, anyway; I needed some to process what had transpired this afternoon.

I wasn't worried that I had made the wrong decision—I had never thought twice about whether or not I wanted to marry Jem—but I _was_ worried over how everything would turn out. There was the matter of his illness, first and foremost, but as he was quick to assure me, there was enough time for him to become married and enjoy at least a small measure of peace before that seriously became a hindrance. And then there was Henry's invention of a Portal—or lack thereof. He appeared to be busy trying to invent things to defeat the automatons, and I didn't blame him in the least. And even if he _did_ manage to invent one, I had already promised Jem I would stay with him until he died, whether that turned out to be a few months or a few years. I had my life back in 1978 waiting for me; it would be ready when I was.

 _And what will you do there without Jem?_ a nasty voice whispered in the back of my mind, but I pushed it away. That didn't bear thinking about right now.

But, even as Jem had explained to me earlier that he had been raised with completely different morals than I was—namely, sex before marriage—the social ramifications of getting married at the old age of sixteen still made me pause, even though I knew no one would bat an eyelid here. I wasn't even sure if marriage that young was legal in _California._

And once again, I was reminded of just how different Jem's world was from mine. We might as well have been living on different planets—in a way, we were. I had first believed that I would have to draw a clear-cut line in the sand between my lives in 1878 and 1978, but now it was becoming increasingly blurred. I wouldn't be able to go back to a mundane high school and remain ignorant of the real world after this. I would have no choice but to go to Mom and tell her I wanted to become a Shadowhunter; perhaps my grandmother would even let me live in the Los Angeles Institute—but that would mean I would have to leave her, my mother, the only parent I had ever known.

 _Stop it, Abby,_ I scolded myself. _You can't be worried over something that not's going to happen for another century. Anyway, what does it matter how old you are when you get married? Mom and Dad were sixteen when_ they _met and fell in love. Besides…it's not as if you'll be married when you return there._

My stomach flipped painfully at the last thought, but my conscience was right: The only reason I would return to my own time would be because Jem was dead, and I would be a widow. No one would ever have to know that I was married, however briefly. A clean break.

And I felt an irrational surge of anger; not because I was going to be a widow before I even got my driver's license, but because it would be unfair to Jem, like our life together was a sham. No, I could not go back to 1978 as the same Abby I had been before. I was irrevocably changed, and all I could do was hope that my mother would understand.

I took a step backwards, letting the curtain fall into its original position and bathing the room in near-darkness again. The fire was burning low in the grate, but I barely noticed the heat anymore. I spread out my hand in front of me, staring at the Carstairs ring on my finger, and felt a surge of giddiness. _"Engaged,"_ I whispered aloud, and the widest smile of all crossed my face.

* * *

I didn't see Jem again that afternoon—Sophie told me that Henry wanted to speak to him about the effectiveness of the misericords he'd used at the tea warehouse—and by the time everyone was called down to dinner, darkness had already fallen. I was curious to find out how the encounter at Lightwood House had gone, and nearly bounded down the staircase to the dining-room. But I hadn't even reached the doors when Will emerged seemingly out of nowhere beside me, sparking with energy. His face was more open than I had ever seen it. "Abby, have you seen Tessa?" he asked. "She disappeared after we returned from the Lightwoods'—"

I glanced suspiciously at him. "No idea where she is," I said as breezily as I could. Will had stopped in his tracks, and was staring open-mouthed at my hand.

"Is that—is that a ring?" he asked, his tone slightly strangled. His blue gaze slowly traveled up to meet mine, thunderstruck, before he reached out and grabbed my wrist, examining the pattern on it closely.

"Yes, Will," I told him, unable to keep the grin off my face. "Jem and I are engaged."

"Jem," he repeated hoarsely. _"My_ Jem?"

"Your Jem," I confirmed. "We haven't told anyone yet, so please don't say anything—"

And, to my amazement, Will whooped aloud, grabbing me by the shoulders and spinning me around in a circle. "Congratulations, future girl!" he exclaimed, and the words now sounded more like a term of endearment than scorn. "To think—I saw Carstairs just a few hours ago and he didn't say anything. That disloyal bas—"

"Hang on," I demanded, cutting him off mid-speech. "Did you just _congratulate_ me? What happened to the insults and the mockery? For Raziel's sake, you flat-out told me that I wasn't good enough for him!"

Will suddenly looked very uncomfortable. His mouth opened and closed for a second, and then he said, "Abby, it is not my business who Jem chooses to…to be with. It was clear from the beginning that both of you were very attached to each other—"

Now it was my turn for my jaw to drop. First Jem's proposal, and now Will acting civil to me…I was beginning to think I was stuck in some sort of dream. "But you said—you tried to test me—"

"And you passed," Will replied, a hint of a teasing tone to his voice. I continued to stare at him, and with a sigh he opened the door to the weapons room and ushered me inside. I followed him, albeit wearily. When the door was closed behind us Will dropped his face in his hands, showing unmistakeable signs of weakness. I was reminded of my candle analogy from earlier, and thought that Will's flame might be about to burn out if he didn't get some rest soon. "Will—"

"There were never any tests, Abby," he groaned into his hands. "I never attempted to dissuade Jem from any relationship once I saw how much you cared for each other. It would be disrespectful of me as a _parabatai_ to try to keep you apart, or tell him that you did not deserve him. Weren't you paying attention to me on the train? Now I am duty-bound to _protect_ you, not harm you—"

My mind was racing, trying to think up any possible explanations for his behavior, but there were none. "I…I thought you hated me," I said in a small voice. "All you've done is insult and mock me since I arrived here."

"I don't hate you, Abby," Will said patiently—the same words he had spoken in the carriage. "I've never hated you. Look—" He blinked several times, almost seeming like a child again, before he finally spoke, grudgingly. "I was cursed," he began in a flat voice. "Or rather, I _thought_ I was cursed. I grew up in Wales with an older sister, Ella, and a younger sister, Cecily. When I was twelve, I opened up one of my father's old Pyxis boxes that he had kept from his Shadowhunting days and released a demon. Mistaking me for my father, it told me that from now on, my punishment was that anyone who loved me would die." He took a deep breath, and looked away from me. "The next day, Ella died. So I packed my bags and ran away to London so that I wouldn't put my family in more danger. I begged Charlotte to let me stay at the Institute. I had to be horrible to everyone—to make them all think I hated them—because if I was otherwise, even for a moment, I would risk their deaths. Jem was the only person I could truly be myself around, because—"

"Because he was already dying," I said softly. I did not want to feel pity for Will Herondale—I could all too easily remember the ire in his voice whenever he spoke to me, or the flash of arrogance in his eyes—but I couldn't help it.

Will evidently couldn't bring himself to nod. "Years passed," he continued, and there was something real and raw in his voice. "I barely felt human anymore. I knew that I was turning into the person who I had pretended to be since I'd come to London. Keeping up such a persona is excruciating. Books were my only refuge, and Jem was my conscience. I wanted to die myself, and was certain I would the second Jem was gone. Until…" he violently broke off, but we both knew what the reason was. It had been Tessa who saved him. Of course.

"When I could bear it no longer, I enlisted the help of Magnus Bane to summon the demon who had cursed me. But he was unsuccessful—and then when Tessa and I were at the Lightwoods' ball, I saw him— _it._ Marbas." His mouth twisted in cold fury. "There was never any curse. Marbas had lied. Ella died as a result of poisoning, not because of me. I abandoned my family for nothing; pushed everyone I ever cared about away for years."

I was at a loss for words; what could I possibly say? _I'm sorry_ would seem horribly insignificant, and I didn't want to point out that he was still young in fear that it would sound too dismissive. But, I thought, at least I finally knew the reason for his insults, smirks and cruelty. I had never believed I could forgive him for the things he had said to me—and maybe, there was some small part of me that never would—but at least I understood him now. Or, at least, understood him better than I had before.

"What about when we were at the Pandemonium Club?" I asked after taking a deep breath. "I've never seen you so angry."

"I was furious at myself, not you," he said, his voice unusually flat. "It was idiotic of me to bring you with us when you had no idea what to do; no experience with places like that. If you had been killed, the blame would have been on my shoulders."

I watched him for a long moment; his eyes were earnest enough, and I could tell that he wanted me to believe him. I doubted he was going to apologize, though, and so I gave a quick nod, letting the matter slide. "Have you told anyone else?"

Will shook his head. "You and Magnus are the only ones who know. I was going to wait until this entire matter with the Institute died down before I told the others." But I knew that this wasn't strictly true: he had obviously been looking for Tessa earlier, presumably so he could finally declare his feelings for her, and I was sure Jem would be right after. What he meant was that he was planning to wait to tell Henry, Charlotte, Sophie and I. This didn't bother me; even if Will _hadn't_ thought he was cursed and we had started off on the right foot, I doubted we would be particularly close.

"Well," I said, half-grinning, "I'm sorry for being such a spoilsport. I know that you have never been as fond of me as you are of Tessa and Jem—"

Will's dark brows furrowed in surprise. "What are you talking about? Abby, the whole point of this conversation was because I wanted to tell you that I _don't_ hate you. In fact, quite the opposite. If I disliked you, I would not have bothered to mock you because I would not have cared what happened to you. I have always cared for you—yes, you infuriated me at first with your meekness and inability to stand up for yourself—but I think everyone here can agree that you have changed. No, I truly care for you, Abby, and in many ways you are like a sister to me. The Angel knows I've had two of them—" he gave a short laugh, "—But Jem is my brother, my blood brother, and with the two of you now betrothed I cannot deny that you are part of my family as well."

I blinked at him, my mind blank with shock. "Oh, Will," I said. "Um…I'd love to say that I think of you as part of my family as well, but…"

"But you harbour secret feelings for me?" he asked in mock horror, putting his hand to his forehead. "I should have realized when you kissed me at the York Institute—"

 _"No!"_ I almost shouted, blushing ten shades of red. "I meant that it was hard for me to think of you as a brotherly figure since you've done nothing but verbally abuse me for the past three months. I'm willing to reconsider that claim, though."

"And I shall do everything I can to change it," he teased. This was the side of Will I had only seen on a few occasions—joking and lighthearted—and I found myself smiling with him. Neither of us had ever mentioned our accidental kiss, and I fervently hoped it would never be brought up again. Still, I wondered if, for whatever reason, there had ever been a similar situation between Jem and Tessa—and then decided I really didn't want to know.

"I don't think you need to despair, Will," I told him, taking a step backward and opening the door. "From what Tessa has told me, and from what I have seen of her around you, nothing you could have done or said would make _her_ feelings diminish for _you_. And I would hazard a guess that she is in the library."

Will's face lit up, and I was reminded of the way Jem often looked at me. "She…she does?" he asked, and for a moment there was real hesitancy, real uncertainty, in his voice.

I gave him the widest smirk I could manage, copying the expression that was often on his own face. "But what do I know? You'll have to ask her yourself."

Nothing, it seemed, could ruin Will's mood now. He laughed breathlessly, dragging his hand through his already tangled hair. "James!" he called, grabbing me by the wrist again and pulling me back into the corridor along after him. "I do believe there is something you neglected to tell me!"

And this time, I was laughing along with him.

* * *

The Council Chamber was an enormous, domed amphitheater, the ceiling painted with stars and planets and the wooden benches decorated with plush velvet cushions. Despite the forbidding atmosphere, the chamber was cold, and I found myself glad that Sophie had insisted that I wear one of my warmer dresses: an emerald green number that was left over from when Tessa and I had gone shopping with Jessamine. To my surprise, it hurt more than I expected when I thought of Jessie, and as a distraction I leaned into Jem as we filed into the Chamber, seeing that Charlotte and Henry were already seated on chairs behind the lectern, while Consul Wayland stood beside them. Today was the day that would decide the fate of the Institute, and to say I was mildly worried was an understatement.

"I hope Charlotte is allowed to keep it," I whispered to Jem, my voice trembling as we took our seats.

He smiled warmly down at me. "She will," he said, his voice reassuring. "According to Will, they have Benedict Lightwood completely under their control."

I glanced over to where Benedict was sitting, his angular, sallow face looking even more pinched in the unflattering light. Gabriel was next to him, but Gideon, who had opted instead to take Charlotte's side, had come back to the Institute, where he was going to stay for an undetermined period of time. _At least he'll get to see Sophie more often,_ I thought sympathetically, although I couldn't imagine how he felt about turning against his father, especially one as formidable as Benedict.

Jem's mother's pendant glowed against my throat, matching the color of my dress perfectly; I suspected that Sophie had done it on purpose. No one knew about our engagement yet aside from Will and Tessa; I had confided the news to Tessa earlier this morning, and she had warmly congratulated me, saying that she could not imagine a couple better suited to each other. I had been about to tell her that perhaps we had some competition there, but I'd kept my mouth shut. I wasn't entirely sure what had gone on between her and Will in the past twelve hours, but _something_ had to have occurred: she had come in on his arm and now he was whispering something earnestly in her ear—Tessa looked shocked and then smiled, quickly covering her mouth to hide her grin. I noticed that she was leaning into him, her body angled towards his, and Will's arm was thrown over the back of the bench, as if he was getting as close as he could to putting his arm around her.

"Abby?" someone said from beside me. I looked up to see Maxwell Cartwright standing in the aisle, still wearing his gear and his blond hair tousled. "May I speak to you for a moment, please?"

"Um, sure," I replied, confused, and turned to Jem for support. He seemed just as bemused as I was. "What is it?"

Now Maxwell looked even more uncomfortable. "Outside?" he clarified. "If that is all right? The meeting should not start for several minutes."

I had no idea what he could possibly want to speak to me about, but I liked him well enough, so I stood up and gathered my skirts, casting a longing look back at Jem. So fast I barely saw it happen, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. _"_ _Kuài diǎn, qīn'ài de,"_ he whispered, low enough so that only I could hear. _Hurry, my darling._ Of course I didn't want to leave him at all, but Maxwell was waiting with a worried expression on his face, and so I reluctantly turned my back and followed my ancestor up the stairs.

Once we had emerged into the corridor, which was dark and ancient, lined with stones and torches, Maxwell halted in front of an alcove, his profile even more pronounced in the flickering flames. "There is something you must know," he said in a soft but urgent voice. "The Cartwright family is not known for their overwhelming generosity. We may seem peculiar to outsiders, but quite the opposite is true: we are just incredibly tight-knit, and would do anything to save ourselves, our own skin. A Cartwright would die to save a member of their own family above any other Nephilim. We are shrewd: we form alliances with the powerful. I suppose you could even say that we are the most likely to be tempted by the forces of darkness."

"Maxwell?" I asked suspiciously. "Are you trying to tell me that…that Mortmain has recruited you?"

"Heavens, no!" he exclaimed. "We would never do _that._ No, we…" Maxwell lowered his voice and stepped even closer to me. "We have been informed that you were not telling the truth about your parents."

My mouth had gone dry. "Were you?" The words were stuck in my throat. "It was Benedict Lightwood who told you, wasn't it?"

Maxwell nodded gravely. "He said he was just warning us that you were not to be trusted, and that we were free to tell the Clave at any time. He told us that there would be a sizable reward if we did. If…if it had been any other Shadowhunter, we would have done so. But it is obvious that you are a Cartwright, and we are loyal to our own kind. We will not betray you."

I was seething with anger. Benedict didn't want to get _his_ hands dirty by being the one to betray me, so he had tried to get the Cartwrights to do his work for him. "Abby?" Maxwell asked uncertainly, and I realized that I must have been visibly angry, my hands clenched into fists. He must think that I was furious at him.

Slowly relaxing my fingers, I tried to mold my face into a neutral expression. "Thank you, Maxwell. That really means a lot to me."

He looked relieved that I wasn't going to snap at him. "And there is one more thing, Abby. If Charlotte Branwell loses the Institute, you are welcome to live with us if you wish. We own a very lovely property in Belgravia that I am sure you would find suitable."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was engaged to Jem and wouldn't need to find somewhere else to stay, so I just plastered on the most genuine smile I could manage and thanked him again for his and his family's generosity, trying not to betray the disquiet I felt inside. What had happened to the charming, outspoken Maxwell I thought I had known? _We would do anything to save ourselves, our own skin,_ he'd said, and I stared at him, feeling sick. Were the Cartwrights no better than the Lightwoods? And I was descended from both of them.

But before I could voice my concerns aloud, there was a sudden uproar in the Council Chamber, and I could distantly hear the shouts and clamoring of the Shadowhunters, and a distant buzzing noise that made me think of bees. Maxwell and I shared an alarmed glance, and we both raced back into the room to see what had happened.

* * *

Despite the fact that Mortmain had sent dozens of flying contraptions to spy on the Council meeting, the distress over that particular incident was far outweighed by the fact that Charlotte was able to keep the Institute. There was going to be a celebratory feast for dinner at Henry's orders, and I had spent the afternoon in a euphoric state of relief that I would be allowed to stay here, as well as the fact that it was a great blow against Benedict Lightwood. He had met my eyes as everyone was filing out of the meeting, and the expression on his face had been so sour that I'd had to break eye contact first.

Sophie had braided my hair and then looped it into a bun on the top of my head, so that I looked rather like Princess Leia from _Star Wars._ I laughed under my breath when I thought of the comparison—there came a point when popular culture from my time that had once seemed so ordinary was absurd to the point of ridiculousness when it crossed my mind in 1878. Of course, Sophie asked me what was so amusing, and all I could do was tell her that I was reminded of a character in a book that was popular in 1978 (I wasn't about to launch into an explanation about the invention of movies just then). She raised her eyebrows at me, but didn't press the point, and left me alone to my own thoughts while she went down to the kitchen to assist Bridget with the meal.

I hadn't been alone for long when there was a familiar knock at my door—by now I could recognize the difference between Jem, Tessa and Sophie, my three most frequent visitors—and I eagerly opened the door to reveal Jem, who was dressed in his evening wear of a dark suit and tie and looking more handsome than ever. His eyes lighting up, he immediately drew me towards him and kissed me on the mouth, his lips moving softly against mine. I kissed him back for a long moment before he reluctantly drew away, his eyes discreetly traveling up and down the length of my body.

"You look beautiful, Abby," he murmured softly.

I smiled, reaching up to brush his hair away from his eyes as he had done with mine earlier. "You don't seem so bad yourself, James."

"I wished to request permission to escort you to dinner, like a proper gentleman," he teased, his eyes shining, "But I wished to ask something of you first."

Taking him by the hand, I led him into my room and closed the door behind us. "Anything," I urged him, but Jem still hesitated before he spoke.

"Now that we know Charlotte is able to keep the Institute, and while everyone is in a celebratory mood anyway," he began, "I was wondering if this oughtn't to be the correct time to break the news of our engagement."

He was clearly nervous, but there was an underlying glint of hope in his eyes. He wanted to make our engagement public, wanted the others to know about us. "Of course, Jem," I replied, resting my head against his shoulder. I could feel the steady beating of his heart against my side. "You don't even need to ask."

I felt him kiss the top of my head, his cheek against my hair, and we stayed in a close embrace until the dinner bell rang.

* * *

Everyone was already seated by the time Jem and I walked into the dining-room. Sophie was running about carrying plates in from the kitchen, and Charlotte and Henry were seated at the head of the table. Tessa and Will were next to them, Tessa in a gorgeous taffeta blue gown that was the exact color of Will's eyes—I wondered if that had been deliberate on Sophie's part—and Will in an elegant black suit very similar to Jem's. Gideon sat apart from the rest, looking very out of place.

We paused at the doors, our hands clasped together in a show of solidarity. The Carstairs ring felt more visible than ever on my finger, and the pendant rested just above my neckline, the chain cold against my skin. I could tell that Jem wanted to be the one to speak, and I was more than happy to oblige him. "Abby and I would like to announce something," he burst out, barely able to contain his joy.

The conversation around the table immediately ceased and the six of them turned to face us. Tessa was smiling as if she knew exactly what Jem was about to say, and Will had a wicked smirk on his face, whereas Henry, Charlotte, Gideon and Sophie all looked puzzled. Before any of them could ask, Jem continued, "We are engaged. I proposed to Abby yesterday, and she accepted me."

There was one agonizing moment of complete silence, and I could almost see the expressions chase themselves across Charlotte's and Sophie's faces—Jem was deathly ill and I was from an entirely different time period—and just as Jem's previously wide smile was beginning to falter, Will stood up, coming to his _parabatai's_ defense as usual. "Congratulations, brother. I wish you and Abby nothing but happiness and long, prosperous lives." He grinned. "Just remember, I was the one who wished to patrol down by the river the night we found her. I suppose you could even credit me for bringing the pair of you together."

" _Will!"_ Tessa hissed, elbowing him in the ribs, and the tense atmosphere suddenly broke. Charlotte clapped, Henry and Will went to shake Jem's hand, and Tessa and Sophie came forward to embrace me. Gideon stared down at his plate, seeming as if he wanted to disappear into the floor, and I felt sorry for him. When the hubbub had died down, Jem and I taking our seats next to Tessa and Will, the excited chatter instantly broke out again, everyone talking at once except for Charlotte, who had her hand over her chest.

"Charlotte, is everything all right?" Tessa asked, leaning over her in concern.

"Yes," she answered, sounding a bit breathless. " _Yes._ It is just—I have news of my own. Good news."

"Yes, darling. We won the Institute back!" Henry exclaimed. "But everyone does already know—"

"No, not that, Henry," Charlotte said, but she didn't sound exasperated at all. "You—Henry and I are going to have a child. A boy. Brother Enoch told me. I didn't want to say anything before, but—"

This news was even more unprecedented: Sophie gave a little shriek of delight; Will and Jem grinned at each other; Tessa and I exchanged wide-eyed glances; Henry whooped and picked Charlotte up, whirling her around the room; and poor Gideon looked even more mortified. "Darling!" Henry shouted. "That's wonderful, wonderful—" Suddenly seeming to realize what he was doing, he quickly put her back in the chair, cradling her as if she was an infant.

"Henry, I'm perfectly capable of walking," Charlotte told him firmly. "Even of dancing."

He looked horrified. "My darling, you are indisposed! You must remain abed for the next eight months. Little Buford—"

"I am _not_ naming our child Buford. I don't care if it was your father's name, or if it is a traditional Yorkshire name—"

The dining-room doors opened again, and Cyril poked his head in, apparently bemused at the racket we were making. "Mr Branwell," he declared, "There's someone here to see you all."

Henry frowned. "Someone to see us? But this is a private dinner, Cyril. And I did not hear the bell ring—"

Cyril shook his head. "No, she is Nephilim. And she says it's very important. She will not wait."

"Well, all right, then," Henry said after a moment. "Let her up, but tell her it will have to be quick."

"Aunt Callida, perhaps?" Charlotte asked, standing up and beginning towards the door. "I can't fathom who else…"

But she didn't get very far, for Cyril had appeared again, followed by a girl of around fourteen or fifteen. She wore a simple dress with a traveling cloak thrown over her shoulders. Her wildly dark hair tumbled freely down her back, and her almost unearthly blue eyes bored into everyone with a startling maturity. I recognized her instantly, but even if I had never seen her before I knew I would have been able to guess. I heard Will's sharp, nearly strangled intake of breath.

"Hello," the girl said in a quiet but strong voice. Her eyes were fixed steadily on Will as she unbuttoned her cloak and folded it over the nearest chair. "I apologize for interrupting your dinner hour, but I had nowhere else to go. I am Cecily Herondale, you see. I have come to be trained as a Shadowhunter."


	28. Twenty-Eight

**T** he interior of the townhouse was dark and impossibly crowded; I couldn't see anything in front of me except for the dim movement of hundreds of bodies, most not entirely human. The drinks were glowing a multitude of different colours, the only source of illumination several faintly flickering candles hovering in midair, casting long shadows across the room. When Magnus Bane decided to host a party, I thought, he certainly didn't do things halfway.

We stood a few feet apart from the rest, pressed against the wall and trying not to draw attention to ourselves. Jem and Will had been tracking an Eidolon demon for weeks, and Will was certain that it was going to show up at Magnus's tonight, although I suspected he was just looking for some entertainment. Jem had invited me along and I'd eagerly accepted, wishing for some excitement myself. I didn't often accompany the boys on their patrols—although technically I was allowed to—but I hated feeling like I slowed them down. As we'd been about to leave, Tessa, who had predictably been up late reading anyway, insisted on coming with us as well. Will had at first flat-out refused, but both Jem and Ipointed out that she was trained and had just as much right to go along as I did. His protectiveness was amusing when it came to Tessa and especially Cecily, but I had the feeling that both girls did not find it as humorous as everyone else did.

I saw Jem's silvery head turn towards me instead of scanning the room for the demon, and I smiled at him, slipping my hand into his. "How long do you think it'll take Magnus to realize that there are Shadowhunters crashing his party?" I whispered.

Jem squeezed my hand, his eyes dancing with laughter. "I would wager about thirty seconds," he replied. "He's about ten feet in front of us."

Jem was right. I could see the telltale glow of Magnus's cat eyes, as if they were their own source of illumination, while he spoke to a pair of faeries. We would be directly in his line of sight when he looked up.

On my other side, Will was fiddling with Henry's Sensor, trying to find some way to locate the demon. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. "It's gone haywire. There's too much magic in the air."

"Have you tried actually searching for it?" Tessa asked him, polite as ever. "I thought Shadowhunters were supposed to be able to spot demons just by looking at them."

"Of course I have," Will answered, visibly wounded. "But on the off chance that one of Henry's blasted inventions might actually _work,_ I decided to give him a chance."

"Or twenty," Jem added, but there was affection in his voice. We were still holding hands, and I knew that it was frowned upon by the Clave to become distracted in the middle of a hunt, but I couldn't care less about the rules. I didn't have my entire life to spend with Jem, and as such I wanted to be as close with him as possible while I still could.

It had been a fairly uneventful two months since we had become engaged; no one had heard anything more about Mortmain or Benedict Lightwood, and I hadn't seen another clockwork spider. I was enjoying just living in the Institute, becoming even closer with its residents and spending as much time with Jem as propriety allowed, and then some. Thanks to my training, I was beginning to feel like a proper Shadowhunter, and had memorized the _Codex_ back to front.

But even despite my current happiness, the future was always hovering in the back of my mind. I'd never quite felt like I truly belonged, no matter how welcoming the Institute and its residents were. The ache for my old life had never quite dimmed, either; in fact, it was only becoming stronger over time and I'd woken up the previous night screaming after a nightmare that my mother had been tortured by the Greater Demon following me, a dream I hadn't had since I'd first arrived in 1878. I hadn't told anyone about it, not even Jem; I didn't want him to think that I was wishing to go back home more than I wanted to marry him.

Speaking of marriage—I told myself, wrenching my mind back to more pleasant territory—our wedding was scheduled to take place at the end of November or the beginning of December. Jem had suggested traveling to Alicante for our honeymoon, as neither of us had ever been there, and we would be back at the Institute in time for Christmas. I'd heartily agreed with the idea, but known that our travel plans would be dictated by how well Jem was feeling at the time. Charlotte had told me that he often became ill in the winter, as London did not have a forgiving climate, and we would have to take the train across much of northern Europe just to reach Idris. I was keeping my fingers crossed that he would remain healthy, as he had been surprisingly strong during the summer and beginning of autumn. Although there had been days where he was clearly fatigued and moving slower than usual, he hadn't been confined to bed or coughed up blood since July—as far as I knew.

There was a flurry of noise from beside me, and Will swore loudly. The Sensor was rapidly blinking bright red, vibrating and whirring madly. Several heads turned in our direction, and I suddenly wished I had thought to glamour myself.

"James, it's right here—" he began, but Jem quickly shushed him, and all our heads snapped forward. Magnus had stopped his conversation with the faeries and was staring at us—or rather _me,_ as I was the first one his eyes had landed on. "Oh, it's just detecting him," Will said in disappointment, and gave the Sensor a black look.

Magnus was now making his way towards us, melting effortlessly through the crowd and looking none too pleased. I glanced over at Jem, who grinned apologetically at me. "Do you hear that?" I asked. "It's the sound of my impending demise."

"Do you mean hearing angels singing and rejoicing? If so, yes," Will remarked.

Jem opened his mouth, presumably to defend me, but Tessa spoke up first. "Stop it, Will. Your jokes ceased to be amusing a long time ago."

"Ah- _ha!"_ Will exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. "So you _do_ admit you once found my jokes funny."

"Please stop it," I begged. "Why is he glaring at me?" But the words hadn't even left my lips when I realized the boys were both glamoured, hidden from even Magnus's sight. He was only seeing me.

"I'm sorry, Abby," Jem apologized, looking distraught. "I should have warned you beforehand."

"So I'm the only one not glamoured," I muttered. "No wonder I thought everyone was staring at me."

"Tessa isn't," Will pointed out. "But she is a warlock, so she is more welcome here than you."

I gave him a hard glance. "Thank you, Will."

"My pleasure."

Tessa rolled her eyes. "Oh, do stop being dramatic, both of you," she said. "He doesn't look angry at all."

Thankfully, she was right: Magnus looked more curious than annoyed; suspicious at the very most. He raised an eyebrow as he stopped in front of me, sparks flying between his fingertips. "I don't recall inviting any Nephilim, and certainly not the ones from the Institute," he told me, his tone musing. "How did you get in?"

"Through the door," I replied, with an insouciance that Will would have been proud of. I heard him snort from beside me, and Magnus turned his gaze to him.

"You know, you lot are quite arrogant," he said. "Thinking that a simple glamour could fool me." He snapped his fingers, and the outlines of the two boys shimmered as they came back into focus. "I helped you, Will, and you repay me by doing this? The Accords have been signed for over a decade. Nephilim are no longer the police of Downworlders—"

"We have not come here to regurgitate the Law," Will said through clenched teeth. His blue eyes were scanning the room, searching for the demon, and I imagined how difficult it must be for him to show emotions like gratitude or trust now, after he had spent so many years hiding them from the world. But Magnus was watching him intently, with something like pity and gentle amusement in his eyes, and I wondered why a centuries-old warlock would care about a mere teenage Shadowhunter who was too arrogant for his own good.

Jem, as usual, stepped forward to elaborate. "We have reason to believe that an Eidolon demon is disguised as one of the guests," he explained. "If you would allow us to investigate, Mr Bane, you would be doing us an enormous favor, one we would try our best to repay—"

Magnus grinned at Jem, his teeth flashing brightly. "James Carstairs," he said, but the amusement in his eyes had turned completely into pity; it was obvious Jem's silver hair wasn't lost on him. I stiffened. "Polite as ever, I see. As always, you make up for the courtesy your companion appears to lack." His gaze dropped down to my hand. "I see the two of you have a happy announcement to make."

"We do," I said firmly, readjusting my grip on Jem's hand. "You are welcome to attend the wedding yourself, Mr Bane."

He gave a short laugh. "You are evidently not acquainted with the ways of the Nephilim—none of them would even spare a thought to extending any sort of invitation for a gathering to a warlock. And please call me Magnus," he added. "You must be Abigail Cartwright. Will has told me all about you and your…unique situation."

"I don't suppose that any of it was very flattering," I muttered.

Magnus raised one elegant eyebrow. "You might be surprised." He smiled at me, showing a row of blindingly white teeth, before turning to Tessa, who was watching him with her customary curiosity. "Miss Gray," he greeted her warmly. I wondered what Will had told Magnus about _her._ "Come along to mind Will, have you?"

She smiled. "I believe 'supervise' is the correct word. And if I am to address you as Magnus, please call me Tessa."

It was times like these that I felt more out of place than ever; I hadn't quite mastered the formal ways in which everyone spoke. Although Shadowhunters were less proper then mundanes, there had been numerous times where I'd had to stop in the middle of my sentence and rephrase myself lest I use a term or expression that nobody would understand.

"Well, my girl," Magnus was saying to Tessa, "I invite you to take in the atmosphere and enjoy yourself. If you are as much of a warlock as everyone seems to believe you are, I do not think it at all a stretch to declare that you and I shall know each other for quite a long time."

Tessa looked stricken at his words as she pondered the concept of Magnus being the only source of familiarity she would have during the following centuries. "I wouldn't mind being immortal," I said, trying to cheer her up. "There's so much to do and see in the world—"

But Tessa shook her head violently, cutting me off. "And watch everyone I love die while I continue to exist?" she asked bitterly.

I began to look over at Jem for support, but Magnus spoke first. "That is why you must make other immortal friends."

"Has anyone ever told you," Will said, leaning over from Tessa's other side and apparently pausing in his search for the demon, "That you are an absolutely abysmal advice giver?"

"Occasionally," Magnus nodded. "I find, however, that I am asked more about my fashion sense. For example, you know you Shadowhunters really don't have the most attractive gear. All black? Really?"

Will rolled his eyes. "I suppose you would be the king of the Shadowhunter fashion world. A lucrative business, I'm sure."

"Will," Jem said under his breath, but he wasn't chiding him for once. He was staring into the crowd with one hand on his seraph blade, his eyes fixed on a blue-haired boy who was standing by the food table, the tendrils waving around his head like a snake. "I think that's him."

Will's head snapped up, a predator catching the scent of its prey. "It," he corrected. "Shall we do the honors, James?"

Jem nodded and reluctantly let go of my hand, casting me a long look before he and Will melted into the crowd. Magnus had vanished too, perhaps to make sure that the demon was the _only_ thing Jem and Will were dealing with.

"Theresa Gray," a musing voice said from behind me. One of the faeries Magnus had been talking to appeared out of nowhere, with pale blue skin and glittering eyes. "I did not think I would see you again."

Tessa looked very uncomfortable. "Good evening, Hyacinth," she replied politely.

Not surprisingly, the faerie—Hyacinth—didn't give me a second glance, as Downworlders were wont to do; I suspected they could sense I was a ridiculously weak Shadowhunter—and stared up at Tessa almost gently. "You look even more like your mother than I thought," she told her. "I could tell you stories about her that you wouldn't believe—"

"How did you know my mother?" Tessa demanded. "Why are you so interested in me?"

But I didn't catch Hyacinth's reply—I'd just seen a flash of silvery hair that I knew belonged to Jem. I was moving forward before I knew it, pushing my way through werewolves and vampires to where I had seen him. The demon had been by the food table; I had my seraph blade at the ready, and quickly glamoured myself so I wouldn't arouse suspicion.

When I reached the table, there was no one present but a few warlocks who could evidently still see me but didn't comment; I sent out a silent message of thanks as I halted near a bowl of what looked like punch but gave off a foul odor. I was reminded of the time in the Pandemonium Club where I'd lost them as well—at least this time I was better prepared in case something happened.

There was a grand piano in the corner I hadn't previously noticed that I itched to get my fingers on, but I knew I wouldn't be able to play any music—my hands were slippery with sweat and my thoughts were racing so quickly I could barely process them. The room suddenly seemed too small, too crowded; I wasn't normally claustrophobic, but the smells arising from the food and drinks were making me feel sick, and abandoning my search for the boys, I stumbled out towards the balcony doors, which thankfully were unlocked. I threw them open and nearly fell onto the railing, taking great gasps of the fresh night air. There was a sharp chill in the air, the coming of autumn, that I was unused to, and I shivered as I lifted my cheek off the cold glass. At least my thoughts were beginning to clear.

The view from Magnus's balcony wasn't the most spectacular: all that could be seen was the deserted street below and a line of trees beyond that, reaching down to the river. It was too dark to see the Thames, but I could taste its salt and dirt even from here.

After a moment, I heard the balcony doors open again and the sound of footsteps, but I didn't turn. It was only when I saw a slender brown hand on the railing next to mine that my eyes slowly traveled up its owner until I met Magnus's cat eyes. "It is not very often that a Shadowhunter tries to avoid their duties," he remarked. "You are not like the others."

"Well," I mumbled, "I suppose you could call me uninitiated. I just…needed a bit of air."

"The food made you ill, even if you did not ingest any of it," Magnus said knowingly. "I have been told Nephilim do not take kindly to Downworlder food and drink. You'll get used to it after a while."

"I'm sure it's wonderful to everybody else," I added ruefully. "I don't mean to insult your party."

"Of course you did, my dear," he said, without rancor. "Then again, I suppose this would pale in comparison to the parties that will be held in the following century. I do so look forward to attending them…" He trailed off, contemplating the possibilities.

"Actually, I was raised as a mundane," I explained, unsure myself why I was revealing so much to this enigmatic warlock. Then again, my mother _had_ known him..."Not many Downworlder parties for me, I'm afraid."

Magnus looked interested. "Were you? Will made it sound as though you were merely indifferent about being a Shadowhunter and didn't care too much for your training."

"Yes, I'm sure he would say that," I sighed, leaning against the railing and regarding him thoughtfully. "He's right in a way, though. I didn't—don't really want to be a Shadowhunter. I guess you could say it became the only option after I…found myself here."

"And how exactly did you do that?" Magnus asked. His voice was deep and husky, laced with curiosity, and half-cast in darkness, he made an exceptionally enticing figure. I might have found him even more fascinating had I not been completely in love with Jem. I wondered if curiosity hadn't been the real reason for his following me out here.

"It was…something called a Portal," I replied after a moment. "It has the ability to transport the user into any place in the world they want to go. Funnily enough, the one I came across had the ability to transport the user into a different _time_ , which, as far as I know, is unheard of. Henry's doing all he can to try and invent one, but so far he hasn't had much luck. I imagine it would be very difficult." I paused. "He's able to transport small objects from one end of a room to another, but not humans and certainly not to different eras."

"And how long, exactly, are you planning to stay in London?" Magnus asked delicately. "Forgive me, but what if this Portal is never created? Will you be simply…stuck here?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know. I suppose I could travel the world and try to find someone who could do it, but that task would be nearly impossible and might even take years. I'd go back to my own time looking like I'm in my twenties, or worse. Besides…I have a reason for wanting to stay here." _At least for the moment._

Magnus's eyes lingered on my ring, the implication not lost on him. " _Amor non elige_."

"Pardon me?"

"Love does not choose,"he translated, his expression now serious. "Tell me, Miss Cartwright—"

"Abby," I corrected.

" _Abby—_ do you mean that this Portal, if it is ever invented, could transport the user to absolutely anywhere in the world? That is not an exaggeration?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "I think that's how it works."

Magnus's eyes glittered. "Including perhaps a storeroom full of _yin fen_ in China? That sounds very interesting, very interesting indeed."

My mouth fell open in shock. "That's…that's _genius!"_ I exclaimed. "Using the Portal to obtain more _yin fen—_ I never thought of that before!" I had heard Charlotte confessing her worries to Will the previous week that Jem would run out of the drug, as Will had told her that Mortmain wasbuying up all the _yin fen._ But if Henry were to invent the Portal, Jem could have as much of it as he wanted, and that in itself was likely to prolong his life even more.

But then reality came crashing back onto me, and I slumped on the railing, dejected. " _If_ a Portal is created," I corrected myself. "There's no guarantee that it will be." My stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought. Even though I was happier than I ever thought I could be in 1878, I couldn't deny the fact that half my heart was still in _my_ time. As wonderful as London was, it could never compare to San Francisco for me.

"Bane!" a voice called from the window, and we both glanced behind us as a green-skinned warlock, whom I recognized vaguely as being a visitor at the Institute once or twice, leaned out of the balcony doors. "Your guests are finding it quite impolite that their host isn't even bothering to speak to them. I suggest you go back inside before we have a riot on our hands."

Magnus rolled his eyes. "I shall endeavor to oblige," he answered sarcastically before turning back to me, his expression morphing into that pity it had been when he'd looked at Jem. "I do hope that you find what you are searching for. Good evening, Abby Cartwright." And he began to walk away.

"Wait," I said desperately, turning away from the railing and staring up at him, the words escaping my mouth entirely unbidden. "Is there anything you can do to help?"

He paused but didn't turn. "What could I _possibly_ do to help?"

"I—I don't know. But you're a warlock—you know magic…" My mind was rushing frantically through all I knew about warlock powers, searching for something to convince him with—and then it hit me. "You might be able to point Henry in the right direction. Benedict Lightwood told me that he used a warlock's magic to transport me from the Institute to the Dark House, which is similar to a Portal. Maybe you could do something like that?"

Magnus's voice was hard. "I do not make it my business to aid Nephilim, no matter how dire their situations may be."

"But you helped Will—"

"And that was the first and only time I shall do so." Now he was as distant from me as if we had never spoken. I watched him wildly, my heart pounding and with the horrible feeling that I finally stumbled upon the truth at last and now hope itself was slipping out of my grasp.

"You said yourself that I'm not like the others!" I shouted just before he was about to open the doors. "If you didn't care about me, you wouldn't have carried on the conversation this long. And besides, I…I saw you."

Magnus halted and slowly pivoted on his heel to face me again. "You saw me," he repeated in a guarded voice.

"In San Francisco. 1973. You were…you were with Tessa. My mother—a mundane—was talking to you. I don't know how she knew you or what you were talking about, but that was how I recognized you at de Quincey's party." I fell silent, suddenly aware that I had probably said too much.

Curiosity sparked again in Magnus's eyes, and at once his expression changed from suspicious to inquisitive. Knowing that I was close to convincing him, I hurriedly added, "And you were wearing _very_ fashionable clothing. The height of fashion, I'd say."

"Of course I was," Magnus agreed. "It is rather odd to be speaking of my future self in the past tense, but…no matter." He regarded me for a long moment, and I tried to look distressed, which wasn't very difficult in my current mood. "I was with Tessa, you say?"

I nodded. "I promise I'll be able to repay you somehow. I'll contact you as soon as I get back to my own time."

"Yes, it looks like you might have to," the warlock mumbled. "Against my better judgment, I will try to help you, Abby Cartwright. But remember that even I may not be able to do anything."

"Thank you," I breathed. "Thank you so much." And I gave a secret smile in the direction of Henry's Persuasion bracelet on my wrist.

"Now I really _must_ be leaving," Magnus said, gesturing to the party inside. "I fear I would not be much help if I am decapitated by an angry werewolf before the night even ends. I will be at the Institute tomorrow at precisely noon." A tiny smirk appeared on his face. "Your fiancé appears to be victorious."

Confused, I followed his gaze to where Jem had appeared in my line of sight, his face flushed with the adrenaline of battle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Magnus had completely vanished, as if he'd simply disappeared out of existence. I pivoted on the spot, wondering if he hadn't just vaulted over the edge of the balcony—I wouldn't put it past him.

I felt a rush of warm air from inside wash over me as the doors were opened for the hundredth time, and I moved instinctively toward the sensation. My breath was coming out in cold puffs of air, and the sight was almost shocking to me in its utter foreignness. The main perk of growing up in California was never having to experience what a temperature of below thirty degrees felt like.

I rubbed my hands together in a futile effort to stay warm as I felt someone's arms wrap around me from behind, and I leaned backward into Jem's hesitant embrace, feeling my shivers lessen as his body heat warmed me. "I'm sorry about not helping you and Will with that demon," I said softly. "I'm a terrible Shadowhunter."

Jem reached out to bring a long finger under my chin, gently pulling my head up to face him. I twisted automatically in his arms so that my back was pressing against the railing, his body keeping me pinned there. "That is not true, Abby," he replied. "You are still new to this life; besides, I think Will and I were fine on our own." His lips twitched upward, as if he was reminded of some secret joke.

Jem did not ask for an explanation of why I was out here, alone, on the balcony, but I felt obligated to offer him one anyway. "I was just…talking to Magnus Bane," I said, gesturing vaguely at the crowd still visible inside. My eyes widened when I saw the colorful warlock himself amongst the others. How in the Angel's name had he gotten inside without being seen? He glanced up and met my eyes, giving me an exaggerated wink before, just like that, he disappeared again. I was left staring after him, open-mouthed. The Nephilim ought to learn some tricks from _him,_ I decided.

"Why were you talking to Magnus?" Jem asked—his tone not suspicious in the least, merely curious. I didn't want to bring up the subject of the Portal right now, as I didn't know how he would react, but it seemed as if I had no choice. I opened my mouth, about to confess, when something cold and wet landed on my nose and scattered my train of thought. Startled, I reached up to brush it away, and saw that it was a snowflake melting on my hand. For the first time, I realized that it was actually snowing, the flakes falling around us so silently that I hadn't noticed anything unusual. The railing was coated in a soft white powder, the snow dropping down from the dark sky. I turned my face up so that more snowflakes landed on my nose, one even catching on my tongue, and I laughed out loud.

Jem laughed at my childish excitement, and his eyes lit up, whether still from the fight or my antics, I didn't know. "It's a bit early for this," he explained, running a hand through his hair where the snow blended perfectly. "It will probably have melted by morning."

"I've never seen snow before," I said in wonder, the cold now completely forgotten. A snowflake had landed on Jem's nose, and I stood on my tiptoes to lightly kiss it, feeling the vibration of his laughter against my chest. He held me securely against the railing, his hands on my waist, as I moved my lips down to his while the snow continued to fall noiselessly all around us.

That was how Will and Tessa found us some minutes later, still on the balcony, entwined in each other's arms and not caring who saw.

* * *

"Miss Abby, you must wake!" Sophie gently shook my shoulder. "There is a warlock here who wishes to speak with you."

"Magnus," I mumbled, opening my eyes at once. It was precisely noon, just as he'd promised. I must have slept in after spending the better part of the night at the party. "Where is he?"

"In Mr Branwell's laboratory," Sophie answered, beginning to lay out a dress on the bed. I eyed it critically for a moment before shaking my head to stop her.

"You know what, Sophie?" I asked. "I think I'll be wearing my gear today."

* * *

Not only was gear more comfortable and infinitely easier to move around in, I could get dressed twice as fast as I could than with a dress, even without Sophie's help. I was in the crypt within ten minutes of waking, my hair tied up into a bun and my stele tucked across the knot. Magnus and Henry were bent over one of the tables, Henry's orange hair clashing with Magnus's dark head.

"I see what you are trying to do," Magnus was saying. "And it is almost perfected, but—"

Henry nodded. "Yes, almost. The portal can be opened, but there is no way to direct it. No way to know if you will step through it to your intended destination in this world or into another world altogether, or even into Hell. It is too risky, and therefore useless."

I took a step further into the room, and both men turned to me. "Ah, Abby!" Henry exclaimed, looking pleased. "You arrived just in time. Mr Bane believes he may be able to assist me in creating a Portal."

My heartbeat quickened, and I didn't dare to speak. Magnus's eyes were darting across the stacks of paper filled with mathematical equations and runes that Henry had drawn up over the months. "You cannot do this with these runes," he explained. "You need runes other than the ones you are using."

"We can use only the runes from the Gray Book. Anything else is magic," said Henry; he looked more serious than I had ever seen him. "Magic is not the way of the Nephilim. It is something we may not do."

Magnus regarded him for a long moment, and then his cat eyes flickered to mine. "It is something that _I_ can do."

* * *

It took him the better part of an hour to achieve, but finally Magnus looked up from where he was bent over Henry's table, scribbling furiously, and said, "I believe I have found a way."

Henry and I had been waiting with bated breath against the wall, and he immediately leapt forward with a cry of delight, while I stayed frozen. Could this finally be happening? Did I have an escape route now, a passage back to my own time? If I had spoken to Magnus at de Quincey's mansion, before the relationship between Jem and I had passed the point of no return—turned romantic, even—could I have returned to 1978 with a lighter heart and a happier countenance?

"This is _brilliant,_ " Henry was repeating over and over. "Absolutely genius!" He seemed about to hug Magnus, his green eyes wide and almost childlike in their joy.

Magnus raised his arm, and a jet of blue sparks shot out from his fingertips. An arched doorway burst into existence in the middle of the room, its center shimmering with bright blue light that crackled like fire. I felt suddenly dizzy, and had to put a hand to my forehead. He had done it. He had actually done it.

The warlock glanced over at me questioningly, and appeared to understand that I could do nothing but nod weakly. _That's it,_ I wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. I knew I should thank him, or walk over to it, or at least say _something,_ but all I could do was stare. I couldn't believe that it had finally happened, after months of having to face the fact that there was a very real possibility I would never find a way home.

But even so…it meant that there would be a definitive end to this period. Sometime, I was going to walk through that Portal and leave 1878 behind forever. I would never again be able to confide in Charlotte, joke with Sophie, laugh at Will's antics, taste Bridget's cooking, kiss Jem…

I blinked away tears, and managed to say past the lump in my throat, "You did it, Magnus. T—thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he warned, and nodded at the Portal. "Not until its success has been confirmed. You try it."

"Me?"

"Well, _I'm_ certainly not going to." Magnus crossed his arms and leaned against the table. I gave Henry a pleading glance, but he seemed too entranced by the Portal to take any heed of me.

 _Isn't that reassuring,_ I thought, more than a bit sarcastically, and stepped forward toward the archway. I was just as transfixed by it as I had been in the desert, and for a moment it was as if I was there again, bruised and bleeding from my encounter with the Greater Demon, and I was about to put all my faith in something I didn't know or understand in hopes that it would save me. And it had.

"You have to form a clear picture in your mind of where you wish to go beforehand," Magnus warned me. "I claim no responsibility if you find yourself in Antarctica or the Amazon."

But I was barely listening to him; I formed a hazy picture of the other side of the room in my mind, holding on to it as tightly as I could, before I stepped through the Portal.

There was the sensation of falling, but it was as if I had merely missed a stair on the way down, not the all-encompassing notion that I'd fallen off a cliff, and lasted for barely a second before it all stopped, and I was standing at the opposite end of the crypt, a few hundred feet away from Magnus and Henry.

"In Raziel's name, it _works_!" Henry shouted. He dashed toward me, touching my hair and hands, as if making sure that it was really me and I had emerged in one piece, before stepping back and beaming. "I shall go and fetch the others!"

After he'd left, the door slamming shut behind him, Magnus drifted over to me as if the movement had been unconscious, when I strongly suspected it wasn't. "This is only the distance aspect of the Portal, not the time part," he said, twisting around one of the many rings that adorned his fingers. "I may be able to transport you back to your own time, but I do not know if I will be able to do that as well as transport you all the way back to America. Even creating a simple Portal uses up enough of my magic as it is."

"Then don't send me back across the Atlantic," I suggested. "You can just transport me through time, to London, and…meet me there, I guess? I know that you'll still be around, and you somehow know my mother, so I suspect you won't have too many qualms about helping me again. Once we find each other, you can create another Portal that will send me to California."

"And what should I expect to get in return?" Magnus asked.

I stared at him, my mouth opening slightly. "Anything."

"No," Magnus suddenly said, and looked away from me, over the top of my head. "I will not—cannot—ask you to repay me, Abby. I do not wish to make it a business helping Shadowhunters, but you and Will are unlike any Shadowhunters I have ever known."

"Well, I'm sure we can't be the only ones," I muttered. "There's got to be some more decent Shadowhunters in the future… _the future!"_ I whirled back to face him, my mind suddenly going blank with astonishment. "You don't think…you might have been the one to create the original Portal? I mean the one that sent me back here in the first place? Could it have been you?"

To his credit, Magnus looked just as unsettled as I felt. Even to someone immortal like him, planning a century into the future had to be at least partly overwhelming. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "But that would mean I would be with you in California as well as London. I would have to accompany you through it."

"But," I replied enthusiastically, "It would make sense, because that Portal had to be created for a reason, right? And to my knowledge, they don't just show up for no reason—"

The laboratory doors swung open again, and I quickly cut myself off; Magnus looked relieved for the interruption.

Charlotte was the first to show up, followed by Jem, Tessa, Gideon, and Sophie. Will and Cecily, who appeared to be bickering, arrived last. I supposed I got along with Cecily well enough: we weren't close, but we did occasionally have a friendly conversation from time to time. She reminded me of the popular girls at high school—beautiful, confident and slightly haughty, desired by all the boys. I had always felt intimidated by girls like her, and assumed that they thought I wasn't worth their time, although admittedly Cecily had never acted like anything of the sort.

"Well, Henry, what is it?" Charlotte asked. "You told us that you had created something very important."

"It wasn't just me," Henry explained. "It was the combined efforts of both Mr Bane and myself—"

"Magnus—"

"—We have created a Portal."

A ringing silence echoed around the crypt. Charlotte looked taken aback; I couldn't help but wonder if anyone actually had expected Henry to accomplish it.

Magnus snapped his fingers, and another Portal burst into existence, this time against the wall so that it looked like another door had been carved into the stone. I heard Sophie gasp, but I kept my head down. I didn't want to see what Jem's reaction was. Had he himself finally accepted now that I would have to leave?

"Now," Magnus announced, "Someone needs to volunteer to step through and they will find themselves thirty seconds in the past." I noticed that he was paler than usual, and he was still leaning on the table as if it was helping to hold him up. I felt a stab of guilt that he was draining himself of his magic for me.

"I should like to try it," Cecily declared, tossing her hair back and beginning to walk forward, but Will grabbed her by the arm and roughly pulled her away.

" _No,"_ he hissed. "It's too dangerous—"

"I'll do it," I declared, and walked over to the archway. The rest of the room seemed to fall away from me as I approached it, meeting Magnus's eyes briefly. Although he appeared confident, he wasn't smiling, and I was left to wonder whether his comment about being sent to Antarctica or the Amazon hadn't been serious after all.

But it was too late to refuse now, and I hastily conjured up an image of the dank, cold staircase leading down to the crypt just before the world fell away from around me. This was more disorientating than just traveling through space had been; I was yanked backward, feeling as if I had lost my balance, and stumbled back, my foot catching on something hard. My feet slipped out from under me and I tumbled down onto a set of stairs, landing painfully on my tailbone.

I stuffed my hand into my mouth to muffle the involuntary cry, and squinted into the darkness before awkwardly pulling myself to my feet. Some Shadowhunter I was. But at least I had made it to the stairwell: I opened the door a crack and peered into the laboratory, feeling a jolt of surprise at the sight of _myself_ standing just feet away. Raziel, was my hair really that messy? I was much shorter than I thought…the cognitive dissonance was so strong for a moment, my brain unable to connect the notion that there were two of me in the same room, that I almost felt dizzy.

"Now, someone needs to volunteer to step through and they will find themselves thirty seconds in the past," Magnus was saying. As Cecily boldly volunteered, I saw Jem's silvery head turn in my direction, probably hearing the door faintly creaking open, and I took a moment to relish the astounded look on his face as he realized that there were two Abbys existing at the same time. I put a finger to my lips, a gesture that probably wasn't even necessary—Jem appeared to be rendered speechless.

The other me, the first Abby, announced, "I'll do it," and stepped bravely toward the Portal. I winced at how grating my voice sounded from a different perspective. As soon as she disappeared inside the archway—visible one moment and then gone the next—I cleared my throat and emerged into view again, taking the spot next to Jem. Everyone stared at me as if they'd seen a ghost, and I smiled, but even so I remembered a dark shape slinking past the cars at the motel, the muffled sound of a television in one of the rooms, a familiar voice yelling at me to run…

"I waited outside the room," I explained, when it became clear no one was going to speak.

"She was," Jem confirmed. "I saw her."

"Well," Charlotte said in a strangled voice, after a long silence, "I suppose this means you may leave anytime you wish, Abby."

"I'm going to marry Jem first," I said firmly, taking his hand. Tessa smiled at me and even the thin line that was Will's mouth softened, while Cecily and Gideon just looked uncomfortable. I couldn't blame them. "Then I'll ask Magnus to create another Portal."

Magnus looked startled. "My dear girl, you surely cannot expect me to stay in London at your beck and call, perhaps for years—"

I shook my head. "No. I will send for you when it is time."

Nobody asked me to elaborate. Jem's hand tightened in mine, and I stared at Magnus, silently pleading with him for what seemed like the thousandth time. He finally nodded, and the knot in my chest loosened slightly.

"Perhaps Abby could be sent back several hours before the time that she left," Jem suggested, his tone impossible to decipher. "That will give her time to reacquaint herself with the world and return to the place she left from."

"I do not see a problem with that," Magnus agreed. He seemed about to say something else, but before he could, a great gonglike sound reverberated throughout the crypt, shaking even the floor itself. Everybody exchanged startled glances; someone was at the door. Sophie was the first to react, rushing away to answer it, and I felt suddenly embarrassed at making such a spectacle of myself.

I turned to Jem, wanting to know his reaction to this new development, but his face was as open and steady as ever. He reached out to rub my cheek. "You do not look happy, Abby," he observed. As far as I could tell, the concern in his eyes was only about _my_ reaction, not his own.

"No," I said in a quieter voice, hoping that Magnus was out of earshot. "Not entirely."

And I was interrupted for the second time that day: the door flew open and Sophie appeared, red-faced and breathing hard. She must have positively sprinted back downstairs. "It's Gabriel Lightwood," she said, but I got the impression her words were only for Gideon. "He says he needs to speak with you."

* * *

The others all rushed upstairs at once; Jem and I hung back as usual, letting everyone else go first. Magnus had mysteriously disappeared, and with his absence the Portal had vanished as well. I had to admit that I was curious about Gabriel's visit—I doubted it was a social call—and then just as vehemently tried to convince myself that it wasn't a trap. "I'll talk to you later," I murmured in Jem's ear. "Tonight in the music room?"

He nodded, and then, glancing quickly around to make sure no one was present, pulled me into an alcove and kissed me hard, his mouth warm and insistent against mine. I yielded to his touch at once, surprised at his sudden intensity but welcoming it all the same. "Jem," I tried to whisper when he gave me room to breathe, but he only ducked his head, pressing his lips along my jaw and then down to my shoulder, his fingers pushing away the fabric of my gear in a most indecent manner. I shuddered, and my fingers twisted in his hair as my eyes closed of their own accord.

I heard raised, angry voices in the distance, and they seemed to snap us back to attention. Jem froze, and immediately stepped away from me, a blush covering his face. I arranged my clothes back into their original position and tried to force my mind back to the problem at hand. We'd had countless heated kisses and had even slept in the same bed several times since our engagement, but had never gone as far as we had that night after we'd returned from the drug den. It had been Jem's request not to consummate our relationship again until our wedding night, but the abstinence had caused me to imagine some extremely inappropriate fantasies, as well as waking up in the middle of the night after a very detailed dream.

"What was _that?"_ I asked him, sounding more breathless than I would have liked.

He grinned crookedly, if not with a tinge of embarrassment. "I do apologize, Abby," he said, gallant as usual. "But I had to do that."

"Why?" Damn it, now I was blushing too. Shouldn't we be over this by now?

There was another shout from the front hall; the voices were getting closer. Jem leaned forward and whispered, his breath tickling my skin, "I will explain later—tonight in the music room?"

I laughed at his repeating my earlier words, resisting the urge to kiss him again, and instead focused my attention on the figures that had just come into view down the corridor. Gabriel Lightwood was first, his electric green eyes even brighter than usual—if I didn't know better, I would have said they were almost fearful. His sandy brown hair was coated with a sticky red substance, as were his clothes. Gideon and Charlotte were trailing behind him, each with worried looks on their faces. Will, Tessa, Cecily, and Henry were hot on their heels.

"Gabriel," Charlotte was urging, as anxious as a mother. Her stomach, which had been growing rapidly over the past months, now seemed almost comical on her small frame, as if she had swallowed a bowling ball. "Gabriel, tell us what happened, please."

"That is a great deal of blood," Tessa interjected. "Gabriel, it is not all yours, is it?"

He shook his head, his eyes wild. "No…it's _theirs_ —"

"Theirs?" Gideon said sharply. "Who are _they?_ Is Father hurt? Are you?"

"Father…Father is a worm."

Will's whoop of laughter echoed through the entire corridor. "It's good to see you've come round to our view of things, Gabriel, but this is an unusual way of announcing it."

"What do you mean, Gabriel?" Gideon asked, after shooting a disapproving look at Will. "What did Father do?"

"He's a worm," Gabriel repeated, now slightly irritably.

Gideon halted in front of his brother, blocking his path. His voice was even and calm, as if he was trying not to anger an animal. I recognized the tone well from when Jem spoke to Will. "I know. He has brought shame on the name of Lightwood, and lied to both of us. He shamed and destroyed our mother. But we need not be like him."

"You're not listening to me," Gabriel snapped. "He's a worm. _A worm._ A bloody great serpentlike thing. Since Mortmain stopped sending the medicine, he's been getting worse. Changing. Those sores upon his arms, they started to cover him. His hands, his neck, h—his _face…_ it was the pox, wasn't it?" He whirled around to face Will. "You know all about it, don't you? Aren't you some sort of expert?"

"Well, you needn't act as if I invented it," Will said disparagingly. "Just because I believed it existed. There are accounts of it—old stories in the library—"

"Demon pox?" Cecily demanded. "Will, what is he talking about?"

Her brother reddened, apparently not wanting to discuss the subject at great lengths with her. "Nothing you need know about."

Now Gideon was trying a different tactic. "Is Father dead? Has the demon pox killed him?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Not killed. Changed. It has changed him. Some weeks ago he moved our household to Chiswick. He would not say why. Then a few days ago he locked himself in his study. He wouldn't come out, not even to eat. This morning I went to the study to try to rouse him. The door had been torn off its hinges. There was a…a _trail_ of some slimy stuff leading down the hall. I followed it downstairs and into the gardens. He has become a worm. That is what I am telling you."

"I don't suppose it would be possible to, er, step on him?" Henry asked delicately.

Gabriel gave him a withering glare. "I searched around the gardens. I found some of the servants. And when I say 'I found' some of them, I mean exactly what I say. They had been torn into—into pieces. I heard a sound—a high-pitched howling noise. I turned and saw it coming toward me. A great blind worm like a dragon out of a legend. Its mouth was open wide, lined with dagger teeth. I turned and ran for the stables. It slithered after me, but I leaped upon the carriage and drove it out through the gates. The creature—Father—did not follow. I think it fears to be seen by the general populace."

"Ah," Henry mused. "Too big to be stepped on, then."

"I shouldn't have run," Gabriel groaned. "I should have stood and fought the creature. Maybe it could be reasoned with. Maybe Father is in there somewhere."

"And maybe it would have bitten you in half," Will said, without a hint of remorse. "What you are describing, the transformation into a demon, is the last stage of the pox."

"Will!" Charlotte exclaimed. "Why didn't you _say_ so?"

"You know, the books on demon pox are in the library," Will sighed, but I saw amusement glitter in his eyes as he glanced at Tessa, a secret shared between the two of them. "I wasn't preventing anyone from reading them."

"Yes, but if Benedict was going to turn into an enormous _serpent,_ you'd think you could at least have mentioned it. As a matter of general interest."

"First, I didn't know he was going to turn into a gigantic worm," Will said painstakingly. "The end stage of demon pox is turning into a demon. It could have been any sort. Second, it takes weeks for the transformation process to occur. I would have thought even a certified idiot like Gabriel here would have taken account of it and notified someone."

"Notified who?" Jem asked mildly.

"The Clave. The postman. Us. _Anyone."_

"I am not a certified idiot—" Gabriel began.

"Lack of certification hardly proves intelligence," muttered Will. Tessa discreetly stepped on his foot.

"And as I told you," Gabriel continued, "Father locked himself in his study for the past week—"

"And you didn't think to take any special notice of that?"

Gideon stared coolly at Will. "You don't know our father." He turned back to his brother. "Chiswick. We must go. Gabriel and I, if no one else."

"Go alone?" Tessa asked. "But why would you not call upon others to come with you—"

"The Clave," Will answered. "He doesn't want the Clave to know about his father."

"Would you?" Gabriel said to him. "If it were _your_ family? Never mind. It's not as if you know the meaning of loyalty—"

"Gabriel," Gideon reprimanded. "Do not speak to Will in that manner."

As always, Jem stepped forward to act as peacemaker. "We will come with you," he told Gabriel. "Of course we will come with you. Gideon did us a service. We have not forgotten, have we, Charlotte?"

"Of course not," she said. "Bridget, the gear—"

"I am conveniently already in gear," Will declared.

"I, too, am conveniently already in gear," Cecily announced, taking her place beside Gabriel and Gideon.

Will narrowed his eyes. "Cecily, absolutely not."

"You have no right to tell me yes or no," she said shrilly. "I am going."

"She does have the right," Henry pointed out. "She has trained for nearly two months—"

"She's a little girl!"

"You were doing the same at fifteen," Jem said quietly, giving Cecily a small smile, and Will fell silent, but his blue eyes were still burning. The only person who could get him to listen, as usual, was his _parabatai._

I decided now was as good a time as any to speak up. "I am in gear as well."

To my surprise, Jem now appeared hesitant. "Abby…" he began slowly. "This is not like anything you have dealt with before."

Why was it that he was willing to defend Cecily but not me? I lifted my chin in defiance. "—You can't stop me, Jem," I said, and immediately regretted my harsh tone when I saw something like hurt flash across his face. It was too late to go back on my words now: he had already turned away.

"And I was going to send for the seamstress to have you fitted for your wedding dress today!" Charlotte exclaimed, looking stricken. "But if you wish to accompany the others…"

"Of course I do," I said, and then in a softer tone added, "The dress can wait until tomorrow, Charlotte. I promise I won't go running off on any missions then."

Will crossed his arms. "Tessa will be wanting to come next."

"Of course I am coming," she confirmed. "I may not be a Shadowhunter, but I too have trained. You are not going without me."

Now both Jem and Will seemed about to argue, but Cyril appeared in the corridor then, his sleeves pushed up to his arms and looking more like Thomas than ever. "The second carriage is now ready," he pronounced. "Who'll be coming, then?"


	29. Twenty-Nine

**A** s the Institute's carriage rolled through the streets of London, Will and Cecily resumed their bickering. Since I hadn't grown up with siblings—or any other children at all, really—I found their constant arguing irksome and easily irritating. Normally I would be able to simply leave the room, but this was impossible in a carriage. I finally ended up giving Tessa a helpless look, and with a light touch of her hand on Will's arm he fell silent. As if to protest, he turned his head towards her, and they shared a meaningful gaze, as if they'd had an entire conversation in that one glance. I often noticed Charlotte doing the same thing with Henry, and idly wondered if Jem and I were able to communicate volumes in a single look. At any rate, however Tessa had managed to tame the beast that was Will Herondale, I deeply respected her for it.

Jem's hand lightly closed over mine, and I wound my fingers through his as he traced his thumb over my engagement ring. Apparently disgusted with the presence of two couples in the carriage, Gabriel fixed a cold stare on my hand and snorted. "You cannot seriously be considering marrying her, Carstairs?" he asked Jem. "You'd be dead even before the wedding night."

Will opened his mouth furiously, but Tessa beat him to it. "I am certain, Mr Lightwood, that it would be more enjoyable to be married to Jem for a day than you for a lifetime," she said hotly. I bit my lip in order to hide my grin, Jem looked surprised but grateful, and Will looked impressed; I had the feeling that had he lived in another time, he would have given her a high-five. Cecily watched the exchange with curiosity; she must be wondering why Gabriel appeared to loathe everyone so deeply.

Gabriel himself apparently had no useful comebacks, for he glared darkly at Tessa before turning to the window without another word.

The carriage ground to a halt, and Gabriel leapt out first, stalking back toward the gate where the Lightwood carriage, driven by Gideon, had pulled up beside ours. Cecily hopped out next, apparently relieved for an excuse to leave the tense atmosphere, while Will and Jem helped Tessa and I out. As soon as my feet touched the gravel drive, my seraph blade was in my hand; I whispered, _"Cassiel,"_ and brought it down to my side, the blade glowing brightly with a golden light.

"You didn't need to stand up for me, you know," Jem said to Tessa as the five of us made our way up the drive. Henry had already disappeared inside the house. "I got used to Gabriel and his taunts years ago. He means nothing by them."

Tessa frowned, as if the idea of _not_ standing up for Jem was foreign to her. "You are the kindest soul I know," she said. "I had to say something."

The gardens I had only briefly glimpsed during my previous visit were still in bloom: the roses, tulips and chrysanthemums were still burning with color, although the hedges did look slightly browned. I pivoted in a circle, taking in the palatial manor, its columns white and regal; the garden maze of hedges and statues; and the unfamiliar carriage parked haphazardly in front of the steps, its doors thrown wide open. A wreath of thorns was the pattern displayed on the side: I assumed this was the symbol of the Blackthorns, Tatiana's husband's family. My stomach gave a funny jolt at the possibility of seeing another one of my ancestors.

Gideon ran up to us; his seraph blade was at the ready as well, and he looked sick with fear. "Tatiana's carriage," he said in a grim voice. "She must have decided to pay a call."

"Of all the times…" Gabriel muttered, but his eyes were just as wide as his brother's, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He strode over to the carriage and stuck his head inside while we all waited, frozen; when he withdrew his sabre it was coated with a viscous, sticky green substance. "There's blood on the seats. And…this stuff."

" _Eremiel!"_ Will called, and his own seraph blade blazed to life. "The gardens run all round the house, down to the river. I ought to know—I chased the demon Marbas all up through here one night. Wherever Benedict is, I doubt he'll leave these grounds. Too much of a chance of being seen."

For once, Gabriel nodded at his words. "We'll take the west side of the house," he instructed. "You take the east. Shout if you see anything and we'll converge."

Jem, Will, Tessa, Cecily, and I began to circle around the side of the manor, everyone keeping their eyes and ears open. Will was first; he leaned around the corner, checking to make sure nothing was in sight, before beckoning the rest of us over. I was nervous about what we would find, there was no doubt about that; but another part of me was racing with adrenaline, my body preparing itself to fight. I supposed I had always had this reflex buried inside me that had never been fully triggered until I'd arrived in 1878.

Cecily had been raised a mundane, too, I thought. And she had become a Shadowhunter recently as well, not long after I had. I opened my mouth to ask her if she was experiencing the same feeling I was, but she was staring off at something in the distance. "What's that?" she asked after a moment, and raised her hand to point in the direction of the sun.

The five of us followed her gaze, all squinting as our eyes adjusted to the sunlight. I realized after a second that it was the form of a running girl, with light brown hair falling freely around her shoulders. She was tall and bony, almost to the point of being unhealthily skinny. As she grew closer, I noticed that her eyes were as bright a green as Gabriel's, and her face appeared permanently set into a displeased, pinched expression. Nevertheless, her cheeks were streaked with tears as she promptly threw herself into Will's arms, sobbing hysterically.

Will appeared so surprised that he nearly dropped his seraph blade. "Tatiana—" he began, and with another unpleasant jolt I guessed that she was my great-great-grandmother, if Benedict was to be believed.

Tatiana drew back after a moment—or perhaps Will pushed her away—holding her hand to her mouth as she wept. "A great monster," she gasped theatrically, sounding as if she were speaking to a large audience. "A creature—it seized darling Rupert from the carriage and made off with him!"

"What do you mean 'made off with him'?" Will asked.

She gestured to a spot some fifty feet in front of us. "Th—there. It dragged him to the Italian gardens. He managed to elude its maw at first, but it harried him through the paths. No matter how much I screamed, it would not put him d—down!"

"You screamed," Will repeated flatly. "Is that all you did?"

Tatiana narrowed her eyes at him; she looked remarkably like Gabriel in that moment. "I screamed a great deal," she said, just as stiffly. "I see you are as ungenerous as you ever were." Now her attention moved from Will to Tessa, Cecily, Jem, and I. "Mr Carstairs," she greeted him without any real interest. Her eyes moved over Tessa and I in much the same manner, but alighted when they landed on Cecily. "And you—"

Will groaned exasperatedly. "Oh, in the name of the Angel!" he said, and began to walk away. With a smile at me, Jem followed him.

"You _cannot_ be other than Will's sister," Tatiana was saying to Cecily, who looked incredulous.

"I am, though I cannot imagine what difference it makes," she replied. The boys had by now vanished, and I was grateful when Cecily asked, "Tessa, Abby, are you coming?"

"We are," Tessa said firmly, not needing any confirmation from me, and we both joined her, beginning to walk away from Tatiana. I expected her to hide in the ruined Blackthorn carriage or even flee the property altogether, but after a moment she followed us, still audibly sniffling.

A cool autumn wind blew past us as we hurried past the house into the gardens. They would have been quite pleasant under normal circumstances, with an enormous fountain in the centre, water gushing from it and drowning out our footsteps. Numerous marble statues circled around the fountain, most of them, I supposed, classical heroes and legendary figures, a mixture of the real and unreal. A few I vaguely recognized, such as Caesar and Venus, but most were completely unfamiliar to me.

Over the roar of the fountain, I dimly heard a shriek, and the three of us whirled around to see that Tatiana had frozen, her eyes bulging and her hand on her heart. Tessa was the first to react, dashing over to Tatiana; the other girl grabbed her and pointed with her other hand at a misshapen object near the hedge. _"Rupert,"_ she moaned. I squinted at it, and immediately gasped when I saw that it was a shiny black boot sticking out from the foliage: the only problem was that several inches of Rupert Blackthorn's leg was still attached to it, bloody and gruesome.

I refused to think about the fact that this was my ancestor's remains I was staring at, and raised my seraph blade. Cecily did the same beside me, and we shared a brief wide-eyed glance before her face resolved into a hard determination, and she began to edge forward towards Rupert, or what had once been Rupert. I copied her, stepping carefully over the boot. Tatiana had collapsed into Tessa's arms, still moaning her husband's name.

" _Cecily!"_ I dimly heard Will call, and I felt a surge of relief that the boys were finally here—but it was short-lived. Before either of us even had the chance to turn around, the ground in front of us exploded, sending a shower of dirt and mud onto everyone as an enormous white serpent burst forth from the debris, its mouth a slash across its head, baring teeth at least a foot long. A high, keening wail reached my ears, and I immediately leapt backwards, my hands automatically covering them.

But Cecily stood her ground: she brandished her seraph blade at the worm, refusing to move. "Halt!" she cried. "Get back, damned creature!"

I felt Jem grab my hand and pull me away; shielding me with his body as the creature lunged at Cecily. The impact as it slammed into the ground knocked the breath right out of my body, but as much as I would have liked to stay with my face buried in Jem's chest, that wasn't an option at the moment. As soon as the reverberation from the crash faded, I was on my feet again, taking in the situation: Will had leapt at his sister at the precise second the worm had attacked her, missing both of them by inches. Tatiana had slumped onto the ground, taking Tessa with her, and now she lay on Tessa's lap while the other girl tried her best to comfort her. Next to me, Jem had also gotten to his feet, his face pale. He had his sword-cane at the ready, and his face was infinitely serious. "Abby, this is more dangerous than we imagined," he told me. "I do not wish to say it, but you are not properly trained—"

"Jem," I interrupted firmly. "I'm a Shadowhunter now. I have to do this."

Several feet from us, Tessa had pulled Tatiana to her feet, looping the other girl's arm around her shoulders. Satisfied that Cecily was unhurt, Will strode toward them to help Tessa. "Tess, you have to get her out of here," he urged. "She'll be killed if she stays. She has no training."

"I do not wish to leave you—" Tessa began stubbornly.

Cecily appeared at Will's side, looking none the worse for her near-death ordeal. "You don't think…" she began slowly. "Wouldn't the creature hold off? She's his daughter. If it—if he—he has any family feeling left—"

"He _consumed_ his son-in-law, Cecy," Will retorted sharply. "Tess, go with Tatiana if you want to save her life," he said in a gentler voice. "And stay with her by the house. It would be a disaster if she came rushing back here."

As Tessa hauled a hysterical Tatiana away, I remarked, "As Benedict's great-great-great-granddaughter, I find this entire situation most surreal."

Everyone's heads turned toward me in astonishment; Will swore loudly and at great length, Cecily looked horrified, and Jem just looked bewildered. "How do you know that, Abby?" he asked, but before I could answer, another ear-piercing scream echoed across the gardens, this time from Cecily, and one of the hedges exploded.

I drew back my seraph blade, ready to throw it, but Jem was quicker: his dagger had embedded itself in the worm's side. "Will—" he began to shout, anxiously, and Will instantly sprung to his feet, his sword gleaming as he swung it upward into the creature's jaw. It gave a deafening roar and lashed out as blood spilled from its mouth, its tail catching the back of Will's knees and knocking him down again.

There was a shout from across the garden, and I spun around to see the Lightwood brothers sprinting madly down the path toward us. Gabriel was holding up a bow, and not a second later an arrow whistled past me, missing my hair by inches, and shot straight at the worm, implanting itself right where Will's sword had slashed moments before.

Had Gabriel just saved Will's life by shooting his own father? I turned to give Jem a questioning look, but he had already dashed over to Will, hauling him up by the arms. Gideon rushed forward to retrieve Will's sword, and as he did the demon—Benedict—reared up like a snake, baring his fangs and hissing. Venom and blood spewed out as its tail dragged through the hedges, sending up a storm of dead leaves and dust. Cecily began to cough, and I threw my arm over my nose and mouth so I wouldn't inhale the debris. When the dust storm had subsided, Gideon waved his sword at the worm, apparently trying to ward it off, but Gabriel was already drawing back his bow: an arrow spun out of nowhere and slammed into the creature's side. With another agonized howl, Benedict drew back and slithered away, disappearing behind a structure shaped like a temple—Greek, I presumed. As he disappeared, the end of his tail caught one of the statues, and it exploded into another cloud of dirt.

"By the Angel, it just crushed Sophocles," Will remarked. "Has no one respect for the classics these days?"

Jem half-heartedly scolded him on his ill-timed levity, but I was barely listening: I could suddenly see myself as if from a distance, standing in one place stupidly while everyone else battled the worm. It was true that I was hardly trained, but Cecily was even _less_ trained than me, and yet she was throwing herself at the creature as if she was a seasoned Shadowhunter. I thought of my father, barely eighteen years old, stripped of his Marks, but rushing to the Los Angeles Institute to save his family and defying the Law. It had ultimately cost him his life, but I was sure he would do it all over again if he had the chance. It had been, I thought, something like what Will would do. By standing still and letting the others do all the fighting, I was dishonoring Dad's memory. I might not be throwing myself into as lethal a situation as he had, but I wanted to prove that I _was_ brave; that I was worthy of being his daughter.

While Gideon and Gabriel were arguing, I whirled around and began to run toward the structure—there was another word for it, but I couldn't think of it at the moment—with a reckless determination. I heard the others calling after me, but I didn't turn back. I knew I would get into trouble for this later, but I would regret it even more if I didn't act.

I could see Benedict's tail waving from behind the temple, and I threw my seraph blade with all my might at the exposed skin. I winced as it sliced an inch of the worm's tail clean off, and I barely had time to lean over and snatch up the blade before the creature's jaws snapped at me, and it lunged, forty feet of fangs and venom and _blood_ hurtling directly at me.

I threw myself aside, landing hard on the ground and barely managing to turn my fall into a roll. I could feel hot, sticky ichor splattering onto my clothes, burning where it touched my bare skin. Everything was a blur—the burnt autumn grass scratching me, the smell of the ichor, the stars dancing frantically in front of my eyes, the muffled yells of the others. I heard Jem calling my name, sounding frantic, but I didn't have time to even look at him: the beast's jaw snapped shut a hairsbreadth from my face, and, still dizzy, I jumped to my feet, sprinting to the only place I would be on an even footing with the creature.

The folly—in Raziel's name, _why_ was I suddenly remembering that now?—was old and crumbling, loose bricks sticking out and gaps in the wall. I used those to my advantage now as I gripped one of the columns and heaved myself up, hearing the pursuit of the worm close behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the others—Jem, Will, Cecily, Gideon, and Gabriel—rushing towards me, but they were unlikely to reach us in time. I heard a deafening crash as Benedict smashed into the column I had just climbed up. It collapsed to the ground, and I was left hanging in midair, my fingers slipping on the tiles. The worm drew itself up to its full height below, and if I fell now I would land right in its mouth. Using all the strength I had, I pulled myself up onto the roof, pain shooting through my arms. I was unable to move for a moment, and felt the hot sun burning down onto me as I suppressed a cry of pain, my seraph blade slipping from my grasp and clattering back down to the ground—

And another crash made my eyes snap open, and I saw that Benedict had taken a huge bite of the roof—and the second column—so that the folly was only half-supported. The roof began shaking precariously as I stood up, unarmed and defenceless without my seraph blade. I could see the others clearly now: Will and Jem were first, each armed with weapons, but it was Cecily I was staring at. She was bringing up the rear, but I could see her blue eyes blazing even from this distance, and a silent understanding was exchanged between us, the same knowing glance I often shared with Tessa. I held out my arm as she reached into her gear and pulled out a small dagger, letting it fly up towards me. It spun end over end in a perfect arc, and my fingers closed around the hilt with a deftness I didn't even know I possessed.

Benedict reared up again, and I let the dagger fly, where it struck the worm squarely in its eye. But it wasn't enough to deliver the killing blow: he was only slowed for a moment, but it was sufficient time for me to realize, as if from afar, what was going to happen next.

Time itself seemed to slow as I leaned forward and bent my knees in the exact position Jem had taught me so many months ago in the training room, how to execute a flying leap—but this time I wasn't landing on a soft mat. I bounded forward a step, putting all my weight into the jump, and threw myself off the roof of the folly just as Benedict slammed into it with his entire body, Cecily's dagger still buried in his eye, and the entire building exploded.

There was a split second of colors and shapes whirling around me, like I was on an out-of-control merry-go-round, and I didn't even have time to take a deep breath before I splashed into the pond next to where the folly had been. I'd jumped not knowing how deep it was, but it had been my only escape route.

Everything went silent the moment I hit the water, and then I slammed into the gravel bottom—it couldn't have been more than a few feet deep—and all the remaining air was knocked out of me. Water rushed into my mouth, my throat, and I began to choke, unable to lift myself out of the shallow pond. I blacked out, my lungs screaming for air and my limbs thrashing about uncontrollably. After a moment, I went limp, and suddenly I felt removed from my body, as if I wasn't really suffocating, it was all just in my imagination, and my last coherent thought was _I'm drowning._

And then something grabbed me by the waist and forcibly pulled me out of the water. I collapsed onto the stones next to the pond, choking and spluttering and coughing up what felt like liters of water and not caring how pathetic I looked. Someone was saying my name over and over, but I couldn't even glance up to see who it was: I slumped down onto the ground, my eyes fluttering shut. Everything was strangely peaceful…

A pair of hands pushed down hard on my chest, forcing air into my lungs, and a warm pair of lips pressed against my own, but not in a romantic way—someone was giving me CPR, although I doubted that was the term used in this time. _Jem._ I could feel him trying to resuscitate me, and a different pair of hands, callused and rough, rolling up the arm of my sleeve and drawing runes onto my skin.

All at once, my lungs cleared and air came rushing back into my windpipe. I gasped and rolled over, seeing blue sky spinning above me, and then Jem's face. His silver eyes were wide and round with fear, his face a sickly pale. "Abby," he breathed—it seemed as if that was all he could say. This was unusual for him—Jem, who was always composed and calm. Now he looked shaken to the core.

I managed to pull myself to a sitting position, Jem's arms going around me. He was speaking in Mandarin, although I wasn't sure if he was aware he was doing it or not. My eyes met Will's, who had been the one drawing the _iratzes_ on my arms. I thought I could see worry in his expression as well. My hair was soaking wet and dripping onto both mine and Jem's gear, but I didn't think either of us particularly cared at the moment.

"Sorry," I said to both boys, my voice still hoarse. "It's just…déjà vu." I was remembering, of course, the very first night I had arrived in London and had nearly drowned after I'd jumped into the Thames and a Hydra demon had seized me. Will and Jem had saved me from drowning then as well.

"What were you _thinking_ , running up to it like that?" Will snapped at me, in the same way he spoke to Cecily. "You could have been killed."

"I fought a Greater Demon on my own!" I protested. "I defeated it—" But I knew that wasn't true: I would have been dead if Barbara Lightwood hadn't helped me, just as I would have drowned moments ago if Jem and Will hadn't been here.

Jem pressed his lips to the top of my head, and I twisted around while he took my face in his hands, his expression slowly relaxing but his eyes still filled with alarm. "Abby, Abby," he murmured. " _Ni shou shang le ma, quin ai de?_ I will take you back to the carriage—"

"Please don't," I begged of him. "I'm fine here—where is Benedict?" I'd almost completely forgotten about the worm, and turned to Will for an explanation and translation, but he was staring at something over my head.

"Cecily, _what_ are you doing?" he shouted angrily. "Now is not the time for climbing trees!"

Jem and I turned around simultaneously to see that Cecily had clambered up one of the yew trees bordering the hedge. Her black hair had come undone and fell down her shoulders, streaked with ichor and blood. She looked wild, almost uncivilized—this wasn't a girl who had grown up in a prim, proper society.

The worm was still hissing not far away, lashing out at Gabriel and Gideon, who were trying to force it back from us. I noticed vaguely that it wasn't attacking them—did it somehow recognize its children?

Will scrambled to his feet, calling Cecily's name, as well as another string of words in Welsh I was sure were expletives—and with nary a glance at her brother, she brandished her dagger, which the worm had somehow worked free of its eye, as well as my seraph blade, and leapt directly onto the creature's back.

She instantly drove the dagger into its flesh, and as Benedict's head snapped back with terrifying speed to snatch her, she rolled off of it and landed, somewhat more gracefully than I had, on her feet, although her right wrist was twisted at an awkward angle.

Meanwhile, the worm's fangs had closed inches from where she was standing, and snapped onto its own back instead, letting out a screeching howl. The last of Gabriel's arrows hit it squarely in the other eye, and with one last agonizing shriek, it began to fold in on itself, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely, leaving us alone with the ruined garden and the paths wet with blood.

Time stopped for a moment, and everybody stayed frozen, staring at each other: then, with a lurch that seemed tangible, it restarted again. Will rushed toward Cecily, Gideon ran toward Gabriel, and Gabriel himself was gazing open-mouthed at Cecily, with a look in his eyes that I easily recognized but had never seen on Gabriel, and I began to wonder…

"That was the bravest thing I've ever seen a Shadowhunter do," Gabriel said, awed.

Cecily shook her head. "I got the idea from Abby. It was just—"

"You are both idiots," Will said in a hard voice, but I could see the concern in his eyes—for both of us—and I couldn't muster up the energy to feel angry, anyway.

 _"Will,"_ Jem retorted, just as fiercely—and then, for the first time in months, I saw blood on his sleeve. All thoughts of Cecily and Gabriel flew out of my mind as my stomach dropped in horror. His grip had loosened on me, and he ducked his head, a low, hacking cough spraying blood onto his hand and dripping onto the already-stained grass.

"Jem!" I cried, grabbing at his wrists, but it was too late: he had already slumped to the ground.

* * *

The next minutes were a whir of urgency and activity: I was dimly aware of Will helping Jem to his feet, his _parabatai_ leaning heavily against him, and Gideon helping me to my feet, his hazel eyes worried, while Gabriel and Cecily trailed behind us, both looking awkward and out of place, as if they weren't sure how to react. I didn't remember the walk to the carriages, where Tatiana was still in hysterics, or seeing Tessa and Henry standing at the steps to the house, hurrying toward us in dread when they saw Jem and the state of our gear. Somehow I found myself in the Institute's carriage, Jem's head on my shoulder and Tessa climbing in at the last minute to sit across from us, her grey eyes wide. I heard Will's voice outside call the horses to action, and the carriage jolted forward, rattling down the drive to the front gate.

Jem began to stir, but didn't raise his head. "Abby," he said weakly, and my pulse quickened.

"I'm right here," I assured him, twisting my fingers through his and squeezing his hand. "We'll get you back to the Institute—"

"It is only a passing attack," he told me, but his ashen face and burning skin said otherwise. "I…did not take enough of the drug before we left the Institute."

"But you haven't been unwell in weeks," I said, my voice rising higher in worry. I could no longer blame Tatiana for her hysterics, and she had seen her husband ripped to death with her own eyes.

"No," Jem agreed, but he did not offer a longer explanation. The carriage rattled through the front gate, and Jem closed his eyes again, as if the light hurt his eyes. Tessa reached over to draw the curtains shut, and I thought I saw a glimpse of the familiar transparent, pearly-white figure of a beautiful woman with long sandy brown hair and mournful eyes, watching us leave, before the curtain fell over the window and cast us all in darkness.

"The others…" Jem began, although his voice was shaking. Trust Jem to think of everyone else before himself, even when he was deathly ill.

"They're staying behind to investigate the house," I explained. "Henry will drive the Lightwoods and Cecily back to the Institute."

Jem gave me a weak smile, stroking my wrist lightly in a gesture of comfort—why was _he_ the one reassuring me? I should be reassuring _him_ —before lifting his head from my shoulder and sitting up with an iron resolve. He was stubborn, I realized, just as stubborn as Will, and whether or not he was pretending he was healthy for himself or the rest of us, he was determined not to show weakness.

"What was inside the house?" he asked Tessa, sounding for a moment like the old Jem. "I heard Henry speaking of Benedict's study…"

Tessa nodded. "He had gone mad in there. In the days before he transformed, when Gabriel said he would not leave the room, his mind must have gone." She took a breath. "He had scrawled on the wall in what looked like blood, sentences about 'the Infernal Devices'. That they had no pity, that they would never stop coming, and…may God have mercy on our souls."

"He must have meant the automaton army."

"He must have," she echoed quietly. "I suppose it was foolish of me—but it has been so peaceful for the past two months—"

Jem frowned. "You had forgotten about Mortmain?"

"No." She shook her head resolutely. "Never forgotten. Hoped, perhaps, that he might have turned his mind elsewhere."

Jem gave her a gentle smile, his voice soft. "We do not know that he hasn't. Benedict's death is a tragedy perhaps, but those wheels were set in motion long ago. This has nothing to do with you."

Tessa was silent for a moment, wringing her hands in her lap, before she finally spoke, sounding hesitant. "There were other items in the library. Notes and books of Benedict's. Journals. Henry is bringing them back to the Institute to study. My name was in them." Here she paused, and gave me a guilty look, as if she regretted revealing so much when he already had enough on his plate. I smiled back at her as brightly as I could through my anxiety, hoping to convey the message that it was all right, before dropping my gaze and staring down at my ruined gear and Jem's hand, still intertwined with mine.

* * *

The Silent Brothers were already waiting outside of Jem's room when we arrived back at the Institute; I barely had time to kiss him before they hurried him into the bedroom, the door closing firmly behind them. _He cannot receive visitors right now,_ Brother Enoch told Will and I, no trace of emotion in his mental voice. Not even I, Jem's fiancée, or Will, his _parabatai,_ was allowed in while the Brothers did their work.

When he had vanished into the room, leaving Will and I alone in the corridor, we shared what was quite possibly one of our most sincere glances, that of helplessness and despair. Will began to pace back and forth outside the door, his hands clenched so tightly into fists that they turned white, while I stood stock-still.

A nudge at my back startled me, and I stifled a gasp, looking up at a sympathetic Sophie. Her cap was falling off her dark hair, and her face was pinched in the same apprehension mine was, but her voice was much firmer as she said, "Come with me, Miss Abby, and we'll get you out of that gear. It isn't healthy for ichor to stay on the skin."

I was too exhausted to protest, and so allowed her to lead me across the hallway into my own bedroom, where she helped me into a silver dress the exact color of Jem's eyes. I didn't comment on her choice of color; in fact, I didn't speak very much at all. I knew that if I opened my mouth, I would begin to cry.

Sophie, perceptive as she was, noticed this, and patted me on the shoulder. "Master Jem will come through this spell soon enough," she said kindly. "He always does."

But we both knew that, one day, he wouldn't. And I couldn't confess to her that it was _my_ fault he'd had an attack: I was sure that it had been brought on by his panic over my fighting the worm, and he would have been fine if I hadn't rushed at it like an imbecile. Will was right: I _was_ an idiot.

When Sophie had left, presumably to find Gideon and check up on him, I peered out into the corridor. Will had disappeared, but Jem's door was still closed. I didn't suppose the Silent Brothers would be finished anytime soon, so I went up to the music room, hoping that the piano would calm me. But my fingers were shaky and uncertain on the keys, and I couldn't play a single song properly, not even Jem's theme.

As I slumped down on the bench, a large grey shape slunk out from under the piano, startling me, and I nearly fled the room after Church growled and hissed at me, as if he knew that I was the reason why Jem was ill. After I found myself alone in the corridor again, I weighed my options. I wasn't hungry enough to go down to the kitchen—my stomach was still churning—I guessed that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep in my current state; and I couldn't visit Jem, so the only logical place left to go was the library.

I thought I knew who I would be able to find there, and I wasn't disappointed: Tessa was sitting at one of the long tables lit by witchlight, seemingly reading a book although her eyes weren't moving across the page; and Will leaned against one of the shelves next to her, his fingers thumbing through another well-worn novel. Both of them looked up as I approached, but neither spoke. All three of us were worn down to the bone with the events of today and our subsequent fear about Jem. His absence was even more prominent as I took the chair next to Tessa, staring at the bright witchlight until my eyes began to burn, and when I looked away I was temporarily blinded with flashes of blue light. "I'm sorry," I said aloud, shattering the tense silence.

Will and Tessa exchanged a glance before turning their attention to me. "What do you mean?" Will asked. For once, he didn't sound arrogant, sarcastic, or condescending: just exhausted.

"That Jem is ill." I couldn't bear to meet their eyes as I confessed, "If I hadn't run at Benedict—if I hadn't worried him—"

"It was not you," Will said. There was no overt sympathy in his voice, but neither was there any malice. He was speaking matter-of-factly. "Jem did not take enough _yin fen_ before we left the Institute. It is as simple as that."

Next to me, Tessa nodded. "Please do not blame yourself, Abby," she said, closing her hand over my own in a gesture of comfort. "It is no one's fault."

I couldn't stand seeing their weary faces; couldn't stand their pity, and so I was relieved when Charlotte appeared at the door. She wore a plain black dress and her hair was down.

"How is Jem?" Will asked at once, snapping to attention.

Charlotte attempted to smile, although her eyes remained grim. "He is awake and talking. He has had some of the _yin fen,_ and the Silent Brothers have been able to make his condition stable, and to stop the internal bleeding."

"Internal bleeding?" I repeated, nauseous. Both Will and Tessa looked just as horrified as I did.

"He can have a visitor," Charlotte continued. "In fact, he has requested it." She paused. "He has asked for you, Will."

I knew that Will had been Jem's _parabatai,_ his best friend and blood brother, for six years, but I still couldn't help feeling a sharp sting of jealousy as Will stepped forward, casting me a sideways glance and his expression almost hesitant.

"I—" he began, visibly startled, but I forced a smile.

"It's fine," I said. "I'm sure you'd be more entertaining than I would." And I quickly stared down at my gloves, avoiding his gaze.

After a moment he bent down over Tessa's chair, his hand on her shoulder. "Tess," he breathed. "Tessa, while I am with Jem, would you do something for me?"

She closed her book immediately. "Yes, certainly. What is it?"

Will bent down and whispered something in her ear; I caught the words "Cecily" and "parents". As he straightened up, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his expression softening into something of the purest tenderness. Tessa looked up at him, her own face lighting up as if he was her personal sun, and the moment was so private that I glanced away, down at the marked tabletop. I felt Will's gaze sweep over both of us once more before he followed Charlotte out of the library.

Tessa put her book down suddenly. "Something is going to happen," she murmured. "I can feel it. Here." And she closed her hand over the place on her throat where the clockwork angel rested.

"Good or bad?" I asked, almost fearing the answer.

"I do not know," Tessa replied after a long silence, but I could see the truth in her eyes.

* * *

It was well past midnight when I was finally allowed into Jem's room. He was asleep, his silver hair dishevelled and looking almost like a child again. I took the seat next to his bed that Will must have recently vacated and gently took his hand in mine. The box of _yin fen_ was open on the table, but with a jolt I realized that it was nearly gone—there was only a light sprinkling of powder on the bottom.

I heard Jem cough, very lightly, behind me, and I whirled around guiltily, hoping that he couldn't see my expression. His eyes were open now, wide and dark. "Did I wake you?" I whispered, putting my hand to his forehead and checking for a temperature. He was mercifully no longer burning with fever.

"No," Jem assured me, propping himself up with an obvious effort and regarding me steadily. "I did hope you would come."

 _But you called for Will first,_ I thought, quickly biting my lip so I wouldn't say the childish words aloud. "I'm here now," I said firmly, more to myself than him. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," Jem said quietly, and raised my hand to his lips. His eyelashes cast long shadows across his cheekbones as he dropped his gaze. "The Silent Brothers have done all they can for the time being."

I tried to nod, but shame still coursed through me. "Jem, I…I'm sorry," I whispered.

Jem raised his eyebrows, looking mildly puzzled. "Why should you be sorry?"

"If…if I hadn't run after Benedict, I wouldn't have worried you so much that you became ill. I just wanted to be like my father—"

"Abby." Jem's voice was surprisingly firm, and I stopped my apology in surprise. "I am certain Will and Tessa have already tried to convince you of this, but my… _condition_ is not your fault. I was anxious beyond belief, yes, and I certainly hope you do not do something like that again—for my sake, if no one else's—but I would have fallen ill no matter the events of this afternoon."

I was a bit more convinced, but I still couldn't erase myself completely from the guilt that I had been the main reason for his collapse. He had been perfectly fine until today—in fact, he had gone on much more dangerous missions with Will, and had never come back this ill.

"Abby," Jem began, curiosity alighting in his eyes and scattering my thoughts once again, "Why did you say that Benedict was your great-great-great-grandfather?"

"Because he is," I replied, a bit wryly. "When I visited Lightwood House in July and spoke to the ghost of Barbara, she told me that only one with Lightwood blood could open the front gate. Benedict believed that I was a descendant of Tatiana and Rupert. And I know he was right—my grandmother's name is Blackthorn. I know that Rupert is dead, but there's a possibility that Tatiana is already expecting a baby."

Jem's face turned solemn, and he lowered our hands so that they were spread out on the blankets. "That must have been difficult for you," he mused. "First being confronted with Rupert's body and then having to fight Benedict…"

"Well, there wasn't really much of Rupert's body to see," I admitted, with a trace of Will-like dark humor. "And it wasn't as if I was proud of being related to Benedict, however distantly. Gideon and Gabriel are his sons—they have a far greater right to be upset than me."

"And what you did today was the bravest thing _I've_ ever seen a Shadowhunter do," Jem said steadfastly. "I am sorry, Abby. I should not have tried to prevent you from going to Lightwood House or asked you to stay in the carriage."

"It's fine," I admitted, smoothing the sweaty hair back from his forehead. "I know you just wanted to protect me. I shouldn't have been so hasty in running at the worm, anyway."

Jem coughed, and my entire body immediately stiffened at the sound, prepared to run for Will or Charlotte if I saw blood. But he stopped after a moment, and his mouth was clear. I slowly relaxed, the tense muscles in my shoulders easing. "I do regret that we were not able to meet in the music room tonight," he said ruefully. "There was a song I wished to play for you."

I squeezed his hand. "You can as soon you are stronger," I promised. "I want to play a song for you as well."

Jem untangled his fingers from mine and moved them up to my jaw, several different expressions chasing themselves across his face before settling on uncertainty. "Abby, that was not the only reason I wanted to speak with you in private." He hesitated and looked away; I could feel the pulse in his wrist speeding up.

"Jem, you can tell me anything," I assured him. "Please don't be afraid to speak your mind."

He took a deep breath before meeting my eyes squarely, as if determined to follow through. His voice didn't waver as he began, "Knowing now that a Portal has been created, and that you may go home anytime you wish, I do not want you to feel obligated or pressured into waiting for our marriage to take place before you leave. If you wish to return home before the wedding—"

"James," I breathed, and bent my head, resting it on the hand that was still holding my face. I could see how much it was killing him, this extreme self-sacrifice, and tears unwittingly sprang to my eyes. "No. I'm going to marry you no matter what. I will wait as long as it takes. I'll marry you tomorrow if you want."

"Tomorrow?" he repeated, surprised, but I saw a spark light in his eyes.

"Tomorrow," I said confidently. "Or whenever you are well enough. We don't have to wait until December. We don't even have to go on a honeymoon. If you cannot travel to Idris, then I am happy enough to remain right here, at the Institute."

Jem stared at me in wonder. "And you…you mean that? You would marry me tomorrow? Abby, this is an enormous sacrifice for you—"

A laugh escaped me at his disbelief; it was as if he had never imagined I would suggest such a thing. "The bigger sacrifice would be _waiting_ to marry you," I said. "We can tell the others at breakfast and go to a mundane church if the Clave does not approve."

"Of course," Jem whispered in wonder. "Of course." His eyes were shining. _"_ _Wǒ ài nǐ,"_ he said softly, and I leaned forward to kiss him, his hands moving slowly up my arms and to my hair, pulling me closer. He tasted of music and _yin fen_ and Jem, and I was careful not to let myself get carried away lest I hurt him or let my imagination run away with me. When we moved apart I was half-lying on top of him in a very indecent manner, and his hands were tight around my waist, at the curve of my hips.

"A day has never seemed so long," he murmured, breathlessly, and we both knew he was talking about our wedding night.

I smiled at him and rested my head against his chest, his heartbeat steady against my side. He began to whisper to me, very quietly in Mandarin, and although I couldn't understand the meaning I knew they were words of love and devotion. We both fell asleep tangled together, sleeping under the moonlight.


	30. Thirty

**"A** bby and I have decided to move up the date of our wedding," Jem announced at breakfast the following morning. His hand closed over mine under the table, and I swallowed nervously, concentrating on its warmth and solidness as his statement was received with numerous gasps and shocked stares from the others. "We are going to be married today."

" _Today?"_ Charlotte asked, her brown eyes regarding us both with a dismay that made my heart sink right down into my stomach. "But I thought you had set the day for the beginning of winter—"

"And Miss Abby does not yet have a dress," Sophie added, setting a plate of toast down onto the table.

I met Tessa's surprised gaze across the table; this was not going the way I had wanted or even expected it. "I know it is very short notice, but...with the events of yesterday, we decided that it was best not to wait any longer."

"What about the Clave?" Will asked, not unreasonably. To my great relief, he didn't appear upset in the least; if anything, he looked as if he was thinking up ways to get us married as soon as possible. "I hate to say it, but they have more pressing matters than overseeing a wedding; besides, they tend to frown upon a marriage where neither of the participants is of age yet." Here he shot a sneaky glance at me. I didn't want to admit it, but he was right: Jem had turned seventeen the month before, and my own birthday wasn't for just under half a year.

"We will go to a mundane church if we must," Jem replied evenly, gently squeezing my fingers in a secret gesture of comfort. "And we do not have to leave on our honeymoon if you require us to stay in London."

"I have a gold dress that Abby can borrow," Tessa said, with a smile at me. "She is required to wear Shadowhunter gold, is she not? I am certain Sophie and I could have her ready by noon."

I felt a surge of gratitude towards Tessa, and returned her smile with equal brightness. "Thank you," I told her appreciatively. "That would be wonderful."

"Well," said Charlotte, visibly flustered, "If the two of you have made up your minds, I can make preparations for extra carriages, and we can all leave this afternoon."

Gabriel Lightwood raised his eyebrows. "Do you mean to say that all of us should attend? I was planning to train today—"

"You would rather train than attend a wedding?" Cecily asked hotly. "Well, _I_ should like to go." Everyone waited with bated breath, expecting Gabriel to retort with another disdainful remark, but he, oddly enough, fell silent, shoveling the rest of the bacon onto his plate and ignoring Henry's disappointed look.

I was surprised but thankful when Gideon spoke up to defend us as well. "You are part of the Institute now, brother," he said. "And you will not endear yourself to its residents any more by acting like a child."

Gabriel's head snapped up, his eyes flashing as he stared at Gideon, but luckily Charlotte intervened. "Yes, Gabriel, you are one of our own now," she said, and I wondered if I was just imagining the heaviness in her voice. "And speaking of our own, Jessamine returns to us today."

There was another palpable shock around the room; I was thinking up ways to avoid her at all costs when Will slammed his teacup down on the table, sending liquid running over his napkin. "What?" he demanded. "She tried to betray us, Charlotte. And you are simply allowing her back?"

Charlotte nodded, in a manner that declared she had already made up her mind. "She has no other family, her wealth has been confiscated by the Clave, and is besides in no fit state to live on her own. Two months of questioning in the Bone City has left her nearly mad. I do not think she will be a danger to any of us."

"Neither did we think she would be a danger before, and yet the course of action she took nearly exposed Abby's secret to the Clave, placed Tessa in Mortmain's hands, and sent the rest of us into disgrace," Jem said, in an uncharacteristically hard tone. I glanced at him in concern, but he was looking at Charlotte.

"There is a need here for mercy and pity. Jessamine is not what she once was—as any of you would know if you had visited her in the Silent City." Now Charlotte was beginning to sound desperate. My heart went out to her; it was obvious she cared for Jessie, even if no one else did. But even so, I had expected Jem to be one of Jessamine's most staunch defenders.

"I have no wish to visit with traitors," Will said, his voice as cold as ice. "Was she still gibbering about Mortmain being in Idris?"

"Yes—that is why the Silent Brothers finally gave up; they could get no sense out of her. She has no secrets, nothing of worth that she knows. And she understands that. She _feels_ worthless. If you could but put yourself in her shoes—"

Will rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't doubt she's putting on a show for you, Charlotte, weeping and rending her garments—"

"Well, if she's rending her _garments,"_ Jem remarked, if not a bit resignedly, and a tiny grin crossed his face. _"_ You know how much Jessamine likes her garments."

"You will not even know her when you see her, I promise you that," added Charlotte. "Give it a week, a week only, and if none of you can bear to have her here, I will arrange for her transport to Idris."

Will didn't nod or give any other sign of finally agreeing, but I supposed his silence was answer enough. Cecily and Gabriel looked baffled; they barely knew who Jessamine was. Henry was still staring mournfully at his lost bacon, and Gideon was concentrating on his food with unusual intensity. After a moment, I realized that Sophie was standing in his line of vision, and both were pointedly not looking at the other. With a swirl of skirts, she vanished back into the kitchen, and I noticed his eyes flicker up and follow her all the way out.

Before the conversation could turn into anything else, the distant rattle of a carriage sounded through the open windows. Charlotte jumped to her feet, her hair falling out of its bun. "Oh, by the Angel," she exclaimed. " _Jessamine._ Come—we must go down to greet her."

Everyone stood up rather more reluctantly and began to file out of the dining-room. I kept my hand in Jem's, but I saw Tessa hanging back from the others slightly, her worried eyes darting back and forth between me and Will, who had now lost his characteristic derisively amused expression. I sensed that Tessa wanted to speak to me in private, and indeed she looked relieved when Will beckoned Jem over with a wave of his hand. Jem glanced quizzically at me. "You don't have to ask," I murmured, and with a quick kiss on my cheek Jem pulled away to join his _parabatai,_ while I walked over to Tessa and we fell into step several paces behind the boys.

"I am glad that you and Jem have decided to marry so soon," Tessa said in a low voice, but there was an odd edge to her tone.

"Yeah, well, I would have been happier if everyone had actually shown it," I said ruefully, remembering Charlotte's face when she'd heard the news. "I suppose Will is going to be the best man," I mused, staring at the back of his tousled jet-black hair in front of us as he shared a joke with Jem. "And I would love for you to be the maid of honor, Tess."

She stopped in the middle of whatever else she had been about to say, her lips parting slightly in shock. "You—you would?" she asked. "I cannot imagine a higher honor."

"Only if I get to be the maid of honor in return at your wedding to Will, which I imagine should be happening sooner rather than later," I teased, grinning, and she blushed. "I'll ask Charlotte, Sophie and Cecily if they want to be bridesmaids, and perhaps Henry can walk me down the aisle." I was sure Bridget would prepare an excellent feast, and Cyril could be the usher—if such a thing even existed in Shadowhunter weddings…

"Abby," Tessa said suddenly, her face set into a determined resolve, as if she was steeling herself for something unpleasant. "There is something I must tell you." And she took my arm and pulled me into an alcove just outside the entryway; the others had already disappeared outside and I could feel a sharp wind blowing through the front doors.

"What is it?" I asked, anxious now; I had rarely seen her look this uneasy.

Tessa bit her lip, and I thought I could see pity in her eyes. "Last night," she began, "When Will was visiting with Jem, he…he discovered that the supply of _yin fen_ was almost gone. Jem used up nearly all of it during the summer. According to Will, he did it because he wanted to be stronger for you, to be as much of a normal man as he could for you. But now his supply is nearly empty, and since Mortmain has bought up London's entire stock, there is none left anywhere."

I stopped short, stumbling down the steps and grabbing the banister in shock. I remembered seeing Jem's near-empty _yin fen_ box, but I had assumed that he'd had another supply somewhere, or Will would go out to buy it for him—he always had. And to think that he had taken more for _me_ , to pretend that we could be an ordinary couple, even for a day, while knowing full well that he was shortening his life by months, if not years, made me feel sick to my stomach. That had been why he was so ill yesterday: he hadn't taken enough _yin fen_ , but it was because he barely had any left, not that he'd simply forgotten. And now he would be forced into a withdrawal from the drug. I thought of cigarette smokers—not that it was the same, of course—stopping their addiction gradually, smoking less and less each day until they were completely weaned off it. Jem didn't have that luxury. He would never be able to take _yin fen_ again; perhaps yesterday had been the last time he ever would—and it wouldn't be long before his body was sent into withdrawal, killing him extremely painfully while he wasted away. He might be strong for a few days, but that was all he had. He would quickly deteriorate and become bedridden, where he would undoubtedly die as quickly as the werewolf in the tea warehouse had. After doing a quick mental calculation, I guessed that he had little more than a month to live—he certainly wouldn't last until Christmas.

"There must be something we can do," I said urgently, forcing myself back to the present. "Some sort of underground network in the city that Mortmain hasn't reached." Tessa opened her mouth to answer, but I beat her to it. "Magnus," I added, hope suddenly flaring up inside my chest. "He can open up a Portal to China and get more _yin fen_ —he told me so himself—"

"I thought of that," Tessa interjected before my hopes could get too high. I could feel my face falling as she said, "Will and I went to Magnus's last night, but he was not there. I fear he may have left London already."

"You went to Magnus's?" I demanded. "I would have come along—"

"You were visiting with Jem. We could not bear to take you from him, not when—" Tessa stopped herself, biting her lip, and quickly ducked her head, but I knew what she had almost said: _Not when you have so little time left._

"We'll go back to his house," I said, speaking more to myself than her. "Straight after the wedding."

"Tonight," amended Tessa, and I sighed grudgingly as I pondered the notion of giving up my wedding night to embark on what would possibly turn out to be a wild goose chase across London. "I want you to enjoy the rest of the day as much as possible, Abby," she said firmly, taking both of my hands in hers. "You—and Jem—deserve that, at the very least."

"Abby, Tessa, what are you doing?" Will called back to us, his slender form silhouetted in the doorway. "If the rest of us cannot get out of this ridiculous greeting party, you may not, either." On the surface, he sounded like classic Will, but as we drew closer I could see that he had circles under his eyes that were just as dark as Jem's, and his eyes were burning with a desperate glow, as if the perpetual fire in them was about to be snuffed out. Years of acting were coming in handy, I supposed, and felt a pang of sympathy for him. Tessa hurried to his side at once, and I took my place beside Jem as the Silent Brothers' carriage rolled through the gate, closely followed by a second, though the latter was unmarked as far as I could see.

"Another carriage?" Charlotte murmured just in front of us. She placed a hand on her abdomen, almost unconsciously.

"An escort," Gabriel answered without taking his eyes from the carriages. "Perhaps the Silent Brothers are worried she will try to escape."

"No. She wouldn't—" But the rest of Charlotte's sentence was cut off as the second carriage stopped abruptly behind the first, a man dressed in a tailored waistcoat jumping down from the driver's seat. He strode over to the robed Silent Brother opening the door for Jessamine. As the Silent Brother turned, the man pulled a sabre out of his coat and ran him through with it.

I screamed, but the sound was barely audible even to my own ears. The Silent Brother fell to the ground, the weapon still impaled in his robes. I was dimly surprised that he was bleeding as red as humans did—I'd always had a vague assumption that the Silent Brothers were made of ice, and would shatter like glass, but as I stared at the rapidly growing pool of blood staining his robes, I felt nausea swell up inside me.

The others had reacted faster than I did; seraph blades were flaring up on all sides of me as the Shadowhunters prepared to fight. The man—who wasn't a man at all, I realized—was running through the gate toward us. The doors of the second carriage opened and automaton after automaton spilled out—but these weren't the spindly creatures we'd first encountered. These were more humanlike than ever, dressed in elegant clothes, the only clue to their true form a slightly jerky edge to their movements.

Charlotte shouted something, and Henry dashed down to the Institute's carriage, lifting a weeping blonde figure from its depths. Jessamine was shrieking with a hysteria that would rival even Tatiana. Her blonde hair, which had once been long and lovely, was now cut as a short as a boy's, closely shorn to her head.

I reached into the depths of my dress and pulled out my seraph blade, aiming it at the automaton closest to me. Jem and Will were already battling the first one, but they didn't seem to be slowing it down any.

Something scuttled over my foot, and I looked down, clapping my hand over my mouth when my eyes landed on a clockwork spider—the first I'd seen in months. Instead of attacking the automaton, I threw my seraph blade onto the spider. It stuck in the creature's back, but after a small shower of sparks it merely shook itself free and continued on its way. I stared in horror as the blade began to disintegrate as if it had been burned, melting into nothing and leaving my only weapon nothing more than a hilt on the front steps.

Tessa whirled around and dashed back into the Institute; I thought for a moment that she was attempting to flee, but she reappeared a second later with a gleaming sword in one hand and a whip in the other. She tossed me the whip, and despite myself, I smiled. "Thank you, Tess!" I called. She briefly touched me on the shoulder in acknowledgement before dashing over to help Charlotte, who was battling one of the automatons by herself and appeared to be losing.

All of the others seemed to be having the same trouble I was; their seraph blades were melting against the bulk of the automatons, and the creatures were simply too _strong_ to be defeated, even by an army of Shadowhunters. Charlotte and Tessa could do little more than to hold one back; Jem and Will had driven theirs away somewhat but it looked as if both of them were quickly tiring; Gideon and Gabriel had actually managed to hack theirs open but were about to face another one; Cecily was kneeling by the body of the dead Silent Brother; and Henry was still shielding Jessamine against the carriage, defending her from the clockwork creatures.

I uncurled my whip and cracked it against the automaton rapidly approaching me; its arm was cleanly sliced off and clattered to the ground, but it could still walk. This time I took a step forward and aimed for its waist: the whip snapped forward again and removed both of its legs with a satisfying crunch. The automaton fell to the ground, its remaining arm still moving around mechanically, and with a whir of gears it finally slowed to a stop.

The Institute doors banged open behind me again, and this time it was Sophie, Bridget and Cyril, each brandishing a weapon and prepared to fight. Cyril and Bridget rushed right out into the fray, hacking automatons left and right like their lives depended on it, while Sophie slowed and stopped beside me. "You must take this, miss," she urged, and held out my purse—I stared at it numbly, confused. "Your clothes are in there. Get to Magnus Bane's as quick as you can!"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Why do I need to go to Magnus's?"

Sophie halted in the middle of hurrying to join the others. "Did Mrs Branwell not tell you?" she said. "In the event of an attack on the Institute, you are to get yourself back home as soon as possible. Mortmain is not just after Miss Tessa—he is after you as well!"

The battle seemed to slow around me as my gaze automatically went to Charlotte, who was busy slicing open the remains of an automaton and was evidently too busy to pay any attention to me. Tessa was nowhere to be seen. I couldn't simply _leave_ —not now, not when everyone was in danger and I was scheduled to marry Jem in mere hours. But, surveying the carnage, I guessed that, no matter what the outcome was of this fight, the wedding would be postponed.

Something closed around my arm and yanked me to the side; I kicked out as hard as I could, but my foot cracked against an unyielding, metallic surface. An automaton had grabbed me, its claws digging into my dress as it shoved me forward; I struggled and punched out blindly, but couldn't escape its iron grasp, not even with my whip. Sophie's words echoed in my head: _Mortmain is after you as well._ He wanted to kidnap me, to torture me until I spilled out all the information I knew about the future. That had been why none of the automatons had tried to attack me yet—they were under instructions to capture me, not kill me. But where was Tessa?

The automaton suddenly halted, and a horrible screeching filled my ears as it let go, and I tumbled down to the ground. Jem was standing over it, his sword-cane in hand and slashing at the automaton so fast it was nearly a blur, ducking and dodging its grasp. I whirled around, searching for Will—he was down by the carriage now, holding a body in his arms, a body that was covered in blood. I didn't even have time to register that Jessamine was dead before Jem ordered, his voice breathless, "Abby, _run."_

By the time I turned back to him, he was lying on the ground, motionless and blood pouring out of a wound in his side. I dropped down to my knees, tears filling my eyes. "Jem," I whispered, cradling his face in my hands. _"Jem—"_

"He will recover," a curt voice said from behind me, but Will's strangled tone and panicked eyes told me otherwise. He was covered in Jessamine's blood as he lifted up Jem's sleeve and began drawing runes on his skin, his normally steady hand shaking. "You are the one who is in danger, Abby. You must leave. We all agreed to protect you should an incident like this occur. You have to go back."

I shook my head, unaware that I was doing it. Everything was spinning out of control, like the Earth had suddenly spun off its axis and was hurtling, untethered, into space. "No," was all I could say. "I can't leave. Jem—"

"You were already married in his heart, and that is all that matters." Will glanced up at me, his face filthy and flecked with blood. "Go to Magnus's. Tell him what has happened—"

"What if he's not there?" I asked desperately.

"Then you must flee. Get out of the country, run as far as you can. Take refuge at another Institute." Will bent down over Jem again, and there was true desperation in his eyes now. No matter what he said, I knew the truth: Jem was dying. And I was leaving him at his darkest hour.

But he had instructed me to run. If he had been in on the plan—if he had wanted to protect me at all costs—if I was captured by Mortmain and killed, it would render the same outcome as if I left. No matter what happened now, we couldn't get married. No matter what happened now, one of us would die. I reached up to touch the jade pendant on my throat, and whispered, " _Zàijiàn, wǒ de ài._ _"_ _Goodbye, my love._ I leaned over and kissed him one last time, memorizing the taste and feel of his lips, hearing his shallow breathing and feeling his weak heartbeat.

Jem's eyes fluttered open, and his hand weakly reached up to clutch at my own. His irises were barely focused, as if it took an enormous effort to keep them open. "Mizpah, Abby Cartwright, _"_ he whispered, and my heart dropped. His hold on my hand tightened for a brief moment before loosening, and his eyes closed again. He was barely breathing, but thankfully still alive.

I had to take a moment to compose myself before I could straighten up and stare at Will with an icy resolve. "Goodbye, Will," I said, and I felt myself choking up again. Why was it I was only realizing _now_ how much I did care for him? "It has been a…a pleasure knowing you."

He gave a choked laugh, but his expression was pained, as if there was some great agony inside him. "And it has been a pleasure—and many other terms—knowing you, future girl," he said, but the words took him noticeable energy. Of course I couldn't be the first thing on his mind at the moment. "He loved you more than anything else," Will murmured, and to my shock he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. "Goodbye, Abby," he said, and began to turn back to Jem, but I reached out and grabbed his arm before he could forget me.

"Will, wait," I said as quickly as I could. "Tell—tell the others that I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. And…you must find Tessa. I don't know where she is."

His eyes snapped up, and he surveyed the courtyard, searching for her. I almost felt guilty for giving him something else to worry about, but if it saved Tessa's life, it was worth it. I took one last long, lingering look at Jem, feeling utterly in despair and wishing that this didn't have to be the way we were separated—although I supposed I should never have hoped for anything better—before turning on my heel, a piece of my heart tearing itself apart from the rest, and finally doing what Jem had told me to do: I ran.

But I had barely gotten past the gate when I heard the ominous whirring of the automatons again. Without slowing my pace, I whirled around to see that several automatons had broken apart from the battle and were following me. I counted three, but knowing Mortmain, there were likely more to come. At least I was diverting their attention away from the Institute.

I didn't have time to glamour myself or draw any Agility runes, so it looked like I would just have to hope I could get away from them on foot. I hiked my dress up with my free hand, the other still tightly holding my purse, and began to sprint away down the road, in the direction of the Thames and where I knew Magnus's townhouse was. My feet were splashing in puddles, and every so often a carriage would drive by, sending a spray of water up onto me and ruining my dress, but I didn't care. I didn't care that the mundanes were all staring at me in horror, as if I was some runaway society girl who ought to be delivered back home and punished thoroughly.

It took me nearly half an hour to reach Magnus's house—the distance was much longer on foot than I thought—and I collapsed against the front door, pounding on it with the last of my remaining strength. I was soaking wet, shivering madly, and about to edge into hysteria. I had no idea if the automatons were still following me or if Mortmain himself had taken over, like a pack of dogs chasing a fox.

A full thirty seconds passed before I heard footsteps in the house, and I was so far gone that I didn't immediately realize that it wasn't Magnus who had opened it. "Please," I gasped. "You have to help me—you promised—"

A thin, lithe blond man wearing a monocle surveyed me in interest, puffing on the end of his pipe and regarding me with the air of a collector who just discovered a new species of bug. "And what do we have here?" he mused, almost to himself. "Has Magnus hired you to put on a show for us?"

"What—no!" I exclaimed, forgoing all attempts at civility. "I just need to see him. It's important. Please."

"Let her in, Woolsey," Magnus said from the depths of the townhouse, and I felt a rush of gratitude that made my knees go weak as I stumbled inside, pushing past Woolsey and into the drawing-room, where Magnus was lounging in front of the fire wearing nothing but a pair of breeches. The logical side of my brain told me that I had interrupted something, but there was time to be embarrassed about that later.

Magnus raised an eyebrow when he saw my disheveled appearance, ready to jump in with a sarcastic comment, but I quickly deflected him, launching into a shortened version of the attack at the Institute, describing only the essential details. Woolsey had appeared in the doorway behind me, but I didn't care if he discovered my secret. I didn't care who knew at this point.

"…And I need you to create a Portal," I finished, wringing my hands together in dismay. "I need you to send me back home."

Woolsey didn't seem concerned in the least that I was in mortal danger. "Dear me," he said in a mild tone; I couldn't tell whether he was mocking me or not. "An army of automatons after you? Perhaps they are outside the house right now." And he strode over to the window and lifted up the curtain, peering almost eagerly outside.

Magnus stood up and put down his glass of wine—at least he looked more worried about my safety than Woolsey. Without bothering to put a shirt on, he strode out of the room, nodding at me to follow. I expected Woolsey to do the same, but he appeared too fascinated with the goings-on in the street.

Somewhat hesitantly, I hurried after Magnus and up a short staircase and into the library, where towering bookshelves covered every inch of available floor space, save for a squashed armchair in the middle of the floor. Running a hand through his tousled hair, which was sticking straight up as if someone had recently been tangling their fingers in it—which they probably _had_ been—Magnus turned so that he was facing away from me, and began to mutter to himself, his fingertips glowing with light. "Get dressed," he ordered me.

"Huh?"

He made an impatient noise. "You cannot be thinking of going into the future looking like a drowned rat. If you require another set of clothes, you may ask Woolsey if he has any spare coats—"

I blinked, almost wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "No," I said hastily. "I have another set right here." While Magnus was still creating the Portal, I pulled my T-shirt and jeans out of the purse and untied my dress as fast as I could—I wasn't able to do it properly, not without Sophie, and so was reduced to tearing it off, wincing as the fabric split down the side. It had been such a pretty dress, too, the color of deep violet.

By the Angel, why was I thinking about _fashion_ at a time like this? I was shaking so badly I could hardly get changed, and indeed it took me much longer than it should have to pull on my 1978 clothes and walk over to Magnus, leaving the dress lying over the back of the armchair. There was a deep scratch across my left shoulder where the automaton had gouged me during the fight, and now that the shock was wearing off I was beginning to feel the pain, but I forced myself to ignore it.

"You said that James Carstairs has run out of _yin fen_ ," Magnus said, his face unnaturally grave as he stood back, glancing down at me. I watched dazedly as a Portal burst into existence against one of the bookshelves, the shimmering blue light beckoning me back to the future—back to the time I truly belonged.

"Yes," I said, unable to meet his gaze. I had to reach out and touch his shoulder to keep myself upright—I knew my legs would give way if I had to stand on my own.

Magnus was silent for another moment, and then he said, "After you leave, I will open up another Portal to China and bring some back for him."

"You—you would?" I asked, and a dizzying rush of relief swept through me. "Thank you," I said, unsure if I could say anything else. It would prolong Jem's life, even if only for a few months. "Thank you."

Magnus finally turned his cat's eyes away from me. "This one will take you to an alleyway a street away from the London Institute. Once you arrive, ask the Shadowhunters there to find me." He paused. "I will let them know who I am."

I nodded as the world began to tilt on its axis again. "I am forever indebted to you, Magnus," I said fervently. "If there is anything I can do—"

He smiled thinly at me. "Oh, I do not doubt there is. I shall have a century to ponder the possibilities. Good luck, Abigail Cartwright."

My heart was hammering like a wild animal trying to escape its cage as I took my hand away from his shoulder and moved a step towards the Portal. I would be able to see my mother again…but I would also be leaving everyone here behind that I cared about. And if Magnus were to find more _yin fen,_ Jem might be able to stay alive long enough for us to marry—

"I can't do it," I said, turning around and burying my head in my hands. "I have to go back—back to Jem—"

"You cannot go back to him now," Magnus said, and now there was something like urgency in his voice. "You have made your choice, or you would not have gotten this far. I expect you shall punish me for this later, Abby, but I have already made this Portal, and I should not like to see it go to waste." And he gave me a shove forward—not very hard, but just enough to throw me off balance. I flailed helplessly for a long moment, my arms waving in the air like a windmill, and I stumbled several steps backward, seeing Magnus's face staring back at me with a satisfied expression, just before I plummeted headfirst into the Portal.


	31. Thirty-One

**A** fter the clockwork army had been defeated, the atmosphere at the London Institute was a somber one, to say the least. Tessa was gone, and Will was in anguish over her disappearance and the current state of his _parabatai_.

Jem had been carried up to his room, where he twisted and turned in sleep, haunted by fever dreams. The Silent Brothers were immediately called in, but with as much regret as was possible for them to possess, Brother Enoch had told Charlotte that there was nothing more they could do for him. He had been given the entire supply of _yin fen_ they possessed, and there was nothing left to do now but let nature take its course.

Will supposed the only small bit of comfort they had now was the knowledge that Abby had gotten through the Portal safely. Magnus had called upon the Institute with the explanation of her visit to him and confirmed that she had gone back to her own time.

But even so, Will couldn't bring himself to feel any measure of relief that at least one of their kind was safe. He was too exhausted and anguished to feel anything other than despair. More acutely than he would ever have dreamed possible, he wished that Abby was sitting next to Jem's bed, helping him through his worst attack yet. For even when he had been at his lowest point, yelling and thrashing about on the bed and tears on his face, he had never looked as deathly stark as he did now. Will could almost taste Death in the air, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch what remained of Jem's life away from him.

His _parabatai_ was shuddering, his head moving wildly about on his pillow as if he was dreaming of unpleasant things, and Will dropped down to his knees next to him, clasping his cold hand in both of his own and resting his forehead on the side of the bed. "James," he murmured, but he was thinking of Tessa and her pale, terrified face as she'd been dragged away by that vile demon, her brown hair falling out of its plaits and tumbling down over her shoulders. He had to go after her; Will had never been more certain of anything in his life. But he also could not leave Jem. His heart was torn in two between them, and each beat seemed to chant the same words, over and over: _Jem. Tessa. Jem. Tessa._

"Abby," Jem whispered, and Will slowly looked up, briefly wondering if he had mistaken him for his fiancée. But Jem's eyes were still closed, his lips moving slightly as if it was a struggle to get the words out. " _Wǒ de xīn lǐ zhǐyǒu nǐ_ _._ _Wǒ ài nǐ._ _Qǐng bùyào líkāi wǒ._ "

Will didn't need to be fluent in Mandarin to understand what he was saying. Jem continued to speak, but now his words were directed toward Tessa—" _W_ _ǒ_ _hen_ _bàoqiàn_ _"—_ and Will himself: " _Sheng si zhi jiao."_

Will swallowed hard and murmured, hoping Jem could hear him, "She…Abby…got away, Jem. She's safe."

Jem's eyes flew open, and he stared blindly at Will, seeming barely to register that he was there at all. "James—" Will began sharply, but the moment passed, and Jem collapsed down onto the bed again, his eyes rolling back into his head. And Will felt hopelessness roll over him again, and he wondered if he should finally start praying to a God he didn't even believe existed.

* * *

Will could sense it; sense that his last conversation with Jem as he had always known him, before he well and truly became Brother Zachariah, was drawing to a close. They had spoken about everything—the battle at Cadair Idris, Jem's transformation, Tessa's magnificent Change, the future of the Institute, the fate of the Shadowhunters—everything except for Abby. Will had carefully not mentioned her, steered the conversation away when it had skirted dangerously close. Jem had not spoken of her either, but some perverse part of Will burned with curiosity to know what he thought of his ex-fiancée. Had he erased her from his mind, compartmentalized her so that he would think of her only when he was forced to? Had he and Tessa spoken of her? Will imagined so, as he was hardly the best person to speak to when it came to matters of the heart, and Tessa had known Abby much better than he had. Even so, he imagined he could feel a phantom pain in his chest even though their _parabatai_ bond had been severed; the echo of Jem's pain at losing her. He did not want to cause Jem any more hurt by bringing up the topic. Perhaps Jem wanted to keep the memories private, something to hold on to and remember when he was in the depths of the Silent City, where no light or laughter penetrated.

But, most of all, Will didn't want to see Jem leave for the last time, see him as _Jem_ for the last time, and it was that more than anything else that propelled him to say, "When I was speaking to you just before I left for Wales, I told you that Abby managed to escape. Did…did you hear me?"

Jem was standing across the room from him, so Will could not see if there was any noticeable change in his expression—what little expression he had left—but he did bow his head, letting his hood conceal his face. There was a long silence, stretched out so far that Will could almost hear the blood pounding in his ears.

 _Yes,_ Jem finally said. Normally Will would have been able to tell volumes about what Jem was thinking even with one word, but he couldn't—Jem's mental voice was flat and inflectionless. It was as if Will was gripping onto the edge of an icy ledge, and his normally trustworthy icepick suddenly ceased to work.

"James—" he began, scrambling for the proper words, "Is this—is this it, then? You will forget about her?"

 _Forget about her?_ Jem repeated, and he sounded almost offended. _I could never forget about her, William, any more than I could forget myself. I thought you, of all people, would be able to understand that._

Tessa's face flashed before Will's eyes, and he felt a surge of guilt. "I am sorry, Jem," he apologized. "It is just that you are so changed."

 _I am not entirely a Silent Brother, Will,_ Jem told him, his voice taking on the old chastising quality that Will knew so well, and glided a step forward. _Nor will I ever be. That is the only consolation I may have. A part of your James Carstairs shall always remain inside me. Never forget that._

"So you…you still love her? Abby?"

_I always will. No change or transformation could take that from my being. Whatever part of my heart, my soul, is gone from me now, she carries it with her._

"Is that why you became a Silent Brother, then? To see her again?" asked Will.

_No. That was not the sole reason, although I did take it into account. I was thinking of saving you and Tessa as my most immediate priority, and then, perhaps in the future, seeing her again. But it will be…painful._

"Painful?"

 _For her. Having to adjust to her old life when she knows that I do still exist._ There was a definite underlying later of emotion now in Jem's mental voice.

"And not painful for you? Knowing that…" Will trailed off, but as always, Jem knew his thoughts without any spoken word.

_Knowing that I cannot have her? Yes. But I should like to think I would be happier with the mere fact that she exists and is safe. I will do everything in my power to protect her from the moment she is born._

But that still begged the most crucial question: what would Jem do when Abby was gone forever, and there was no possibility of her ever existing again? Will swallowed; the thought of Jem's pain extended even to him, and he knew that he, himself, would never see Abby again. He would have to speak to Tessa about that. "Do you think she'll be angry at you?" he asked, with a half-smile. "Or relieved that you are still around?"

 _I do not know,_ said Jem. _But, for her sake, I hope it is the former. She deserves a full, happy life and the chance to love again, to live a proper life. I…suppose it is fortunate, then, that we were never married._ And he turned away from Will, hiding his face completely.

His tone indicated the end of the conversation, and once again Will was faced with his _parabatai's_ agony and had no way of remedying it. "Jem…" he said, about to explain Jonathan Cartwright's mention of Brother Zachariah in Abby's hand-me-down journal, but faltered. Who was he, after all, to upset Jem even more? He would tell him later, Will decided, when it was time.

"Go in peace, James Carstairs," he said, and although Jem must have eventually left the room, Will didn't turn around to watch him go—he couldn't stand to see the moment where he was finally and truly separated from his _parabatai._

* * *

_**1891** _

Tessa sat up straighter in the four-poster bed she shared with Will in the Institute's master bedroom, exhausted but smiling. The setting sun spilled through the open curtains, evening sunlight pouring into the room. She wore a white nightdress that Bridget had helped her into when she could stand, and her thick brown hair was pulled back from her sweaty face by several pins.

Her husband was beaming down at her and their new daughter, his blue eyes radiant and glowing. Tessa had gone into labour in the early hours of that morning, and Will had stayed by her side through every second—as he had also done during the birth of their eldest son, James, completely disregarding the rules. The Silent Brother who had been present at the birth—Jem, of course—had not objected in the least, and neither had Charlotte, whom Tessa had called in, aside from a slight headshake and a quick roll of her eyes.

"There is someone at the door who wants to see you very much," Will murmured, brushing the hair away from Tessa's face and kissing her on the nose. "Shall we allow him in?"

Despite her weariness, Tessa still found it somewhere within her to laugh, and she nodded, adjusting the tiny bundle in her arms. "Let him in," she agreed, and with a bound across the room—he was still as energetic at thirty as he had been at sixteen, or perhaps Tessa simply did not notice his aging—Will opened the door and a black-haired blur rushed in.

Five-year-old James Herondale leapt onto the bed without any regard whatsoever for his mother's comfort, earning himself a sharp word from his father, and snuggled into the blankets next to Tessa as Will sat down on his other side. The four Herondales were, in that moment, as peaceful as they had ever been.

James's golden eyes were wide as he stared down at his baby sister. She was asleep, but Tessa knew that her eyes were as blue as Will's, as bright as the sky in New York, and she was already growing a tiny tuft of brown hair. James experimentally stuck his finger out, and the infant reflexively grabbed it, squeaking in her sleep.

"She knows who I am!" James announced proudly, puffing his chest out importantly, already finding satisfaction in his new position of older brother. "What's her name?"

Tessa and Will exchanged a soft, tender glance, the answer to hundreds of heated arguments in the previous nine months finally revealed. "Lucie," Tessa finally said. "Lucie Abigail Herondale."

* * *

_**1920** _

The Blackthorns' Kensington residence was abuzz with excitement over the impending arrival of yet another child. The Blackthorn family was quite populous in numbers, but they were always willing to celebrate any new addition to their clan.

Today the tumult was concentrated on the birth of Jesse and Lucie's next child. The aunts fussed over the mother-to-be, the uncles calmed the father-to-be, and the cousins distracted the older siblings. Indeed, the house was so crowded that when the front door opened for the umpteenth time and Will Herondale and his youthful wife slipped in, no one even batted an eyelash. The couple had journeyed from their mansion in Yorkshire to visit their daughter and newest grandchild.

Paying no attention to the rules whatsoever, as usual, Will burst into Lucie's bedroom with all the protectiveness of a father over his little girl, despite the fact that this was hardly her first time delivering a child. He clapped Jesse on the back in greeting before hurrying over to Lucie, who was pacing around the room, despite her maid's insistence to rest, and trying to calm her newborn daughter, whose ear-piercing screams could be heard all the way downstairs.

Will snatched the baby from Lucie and attempted to take over her job of silencing it, which only made the situation worse. Tessa noticed that Brother Zachariah was standing silently in the corner. Owing to his gentle manner and surprising humanity, he was by far the most requested Silent Brother for all Shadowhunters, not just the Herondales.

"By the Angel," Will groaned, "This child wails louder than a banshee. She certainly takes after you, Luce."

While Lucie hit him playfully on the arm, Tessa stepped forward and took the child from Will's arms, balancing her expertly on her hip. The baby's cries quelled at once, and everyone in the room stared at Tessa in shock.

"Thank you, Mum," Lucie said gratefully, resting a hand on her daughter's head. The Blackthorn ring glinted on her finger. "You're a natural."

"I have to be," Tessa said dryly, glancing over at Will and trying to ignore his now peppery grey hair, which he meticulously plucked at every day in hopes that it would somehow grow back in its original shade of black. "Your father certainly isn't."

Both women laughed, the light-hearted joke easing the atmosphere. "Have you thought of a name yet?" asked Tessa curiously. Lucie hadn't discussed anything with her or Will, and she wondered if they were planning to name the baby after Jesse's late mother, Tatiana, despite the controversy she knew it would bring.

Lucie nodded. "Well, I was thinking of naming her Abigail." She paused. "You know that I've always loved my middle name, and though I have never met the girl whom you and Dad speak so highly of, I am honored to be using her name."

Tessa smiled at her daughter, but inside she was reeling with shock. She distinctly remembered that Abby had been named after her grandmother, who was also called Abigail, and Abby's middle name was _Lucie,_ who had been her great-grandmother…

But, even through her astonishment, Tessa knew it all made sense. She should have realized it before: Abby was her and Will's great-great-granddaughter. Jem had once mentioned that she and Tessa had similar features, even if they didn't look alike at first glance, and Abby had been able to see ghosts, a trait that must have been passed down from Will and Lucie…

 _Tessa?_ Brother Zachariah's concerned voice echoed through her head, and Tessa broke out of her reverie to see him gliding towards her, after he had finished speaking with Will. Lucie went back over to her father, and Tessa stepped back into a quiet corner of the room. _You look troubled. I can assure you that Lucie and the baby are both healthy and thriving._

Tessa shook her head. "No. It's not that. I…" Seeing that Jesse was looking over at them, she lowered her voice and explained her newest revelation. Brother Zachariah gave a small start when she mentioned Abby's name, but he remained unusually calm for the duration of Tessa's explanation.

 _I suspected that was the case the moment you told me your daughter's name,_ he told her, and Tessa thought she saw his face glow, as though a part of him had been awakened again. _Abby was far too much like your family for it to be mere happenstance._

"You knew?" Tessa asked. "Have you told Will?"

Zachariah shook his head. _He shall figure it out on his own._ He sounded almost amused as he added, _But I suspect it will take him far longer than it took you._

* * *

_**1935** _

The London Institute was holding its annual Christmas party. James, Cordelia, and their son Owen had a reputation for being excellent hosts, always greeting their guests and taking time to speak with everyone present. They were able to transform the normally gloomy Institute into a place of cheer and laughter. As a child, Owen had brought a homeless mundane he'd seen on the streets to the party—he'd been lectured sternly by the Clave and the Silent Brothers were called in to erase the mundane's memories, but decades later Owen still stubbornly insisted that it had been the best day of that homeless mundane's life.

By midnight, nearly all of the guests were converged in the front drawing-room (although no one appeared to have any idea where Owen and Lydia Kingsmill had gone) and the party was drawing to a close. Lucie had gathered up all but one of her children for the carriage ride home and was searching for fifteen-year-old Abigail, who had been in the room not two minutes before.

Exasperated with the disappearance of his grandson Samuel, a stooped Maxwell Cartwright opened the door to see if he had already gone outside, but instead he was met with a couple tightly entwined in the dim light of the corridor, arms around each other and kissing as if their lives depended on it. Abigail Blackthorn and Samuel Cartwright immediately jumped apart guiltily when they realized that the eyes of at least fifty Shadowhunters were on them.

Gabriel Lightwood accidentally stabbed himself in the eye with a pair of glasses in his haste to get them on and see what everybody was looking at, and Henry Branwell was jolted out of a deep sleep by his son Matthew tripping over his wheelchair. But no one was more surprised than Will. He stared wordlessly at his granddaughter, realization finally dawning on him, and a worried Tessa had to guide him to the sofa, where his gnarled fingers shook on the handle of his cane. She stroked his hair and whispered soothingly in his ear until Will was able to speak.

"Abby," were his first words, whispered low so that the others couldn't hear. "She—she is our descendant. If Gail marries the Cartwright boy—"

Tessa grinned and kissed his cheek, now wrinkled with age, but all she could see was the boy Will had once been. "I'm surprised it's taken you this long to figure it out," she gently teased. "Za— _Jem_ was right."

Will's head snapped around and he stared at her with that indignation she knew so well, his mind and brain as clear and lucid as ever despite his rapidly failing body. "Both of you knew and you didn't tell me?" he asked, and launched into a very descriptive, colorful monologue that he was known so well for, and Tessa laughed.

* * *

_**1937** _

She had pushed the thought out of her mind for decades; refused to think about the inevitability of Will's death even when the warning signs had begun: his poor health, his slower movements, his eventual dislike of even leaving their Yorkshire residence to walk in the sun and chase the ducks away from the pond, all while claiming that he was just as strong and well as he had always been. But now, as the cold and wet winter slowly faded into an even wetter and muddier spring and the days began to grow longer, Tessa knew she finally had to face the fact that Will was going to die soon. Everyone else knew, of course; she knew that they tiptoed around her, whispered among themselves that she would soon be a widow. Will had lived an extraordinarily long life for a Shadowhunter, and it had been a joyous one at that, full of love and laughter. But Tessa knew that wouldn't make losing him any easier.

It was the end of May, and Tessa had brought in a bouquet of flowers from the garden, placing them in a vase by the windowsill and watching a ladybug emerge from one of the roses. Will was sitting in bed, a book lying open in front of him and a pen in his hand. His fingers moved swiftly across the page, his hand as steady as ever. Tessa was curious as to why he was writing in the book—from this angle, it was familiar to her—but figured that he would tell her if he wanted to.

Sure enough, a moment later Will closed the book and reached over to put the pen on the bedside table. He picked up the book, and his hands were trembling slightly, as they had been doing for several years now. "Tess," he said hoarsely, and she was at his side in an instant. "Please…give this to Abby when you see her again."

Tessa reached out to take the book, and frowned at the title: _The Great Gatsby._ She and Will had both read it, of course, and this was Will's first-edition copy. She remembered that Abby didn't like reading, and raised an eyebrow at Will. He smiled, and for a second the young Will shone through, that devilish smirk that still made Tessa's heart skip a beat. "She'll understand," he croaked.

It was one of the last sentences he ever spoke.

* * *

_**1960** _

"I'm just at a loss as to how we can talk some sense into him!" Abigail Cartwright née Blackthorn exclaimed, placing her hands flat on the kitchen table and staring at her husband with an anguished look. "I know Jon's always been a bit of a rebel, running around with Downworlders and the like while we have to pretend we don't notice, but honestly…a _mundane?"_

Samuel gazed at his wife steadily, something like pity touching his features. "It is possible that she may apply for Ascension," he pointed out. "Such a thing is not unheard of. And Jon does seem to be more infatuated with her than he ever has been before."

"I know," Abigail conceded, "And Grace Cooper is a sweet girl, there's no doubt about that, but why does Jon always have to take the most difficult route? Is there not a Shadowhunter girl who would be even more suitable for him?"

"If he was simple, he would not be your son," Samuel reminded her.

The kitchen door opened with a start, slamming against the wall. Abigail stood up in concern when she saw her son stumble inside, his face streaked with blood and his gear stained with ichor. Jonathan's left arm was held at an impossible angle, and his face was scrunched up as if he was in terrible pain. His _parabatai_ and second cousin, Marcus Herondale, was helping him stand, his arm looped around Jonathan's shoulders.

"By the Angel, what happened?" Abigail demanded, springing into action at once. "He needs the infirmary! I'll call the Silent Brothers—"

"No," Jonathan insisted stubbornly, even as he sank into a chair and closed his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Jon thought he could handle everything on his own," Marcus said, but he sounded more resigned than angry. "As usual."

"Jonathan Edmund Cartwright," Abigail snapped, "Just who do you think you are? You are _so_ much like your great-grandfather sometimes."

"Well, then, you can't blame me, Mum," Jonathan said, his eyes still closed and his handsome face relaxing slightly, as if the touch of his _parabatai_ calmed him. He looked exactly like his father and the Cartwrights, but his personality was much more like his mother's side of the family. He possessed all of Abigail's stubbornness, Lucie's impetuousness, and Will's rebelliousness. Marcus, despite being a Herondale, was far more level-headed and cautious.

Jonathan and Marcus had met in Idris when they were very young, and became _parabatai_ during their schooling there. After growing tired of theory and wanting to apply what he'd learned to the real world, Jonathan had returned to his hometown of Los Angeles and the Institute there, Marcus joining him.

"We were tracking a Behemoth demon and Jon tried to impress Grace by dealing with it himself," Marcus said in a long-suffering tone. "He didn't succeed."

Abigail froze. "You did _what?"_ she nearly snarled. "Is this some sort of _game_ to you, fighting demons? Trying to impress a girl, and a mundane at that?"

Marcus opened his mouth to defend Jonathan, but the blond boy had already spoken. "You don't get a say in this, Mum," he said firmly. "I'm in love with Grace. I would do anything for her. Even if it means leaving the Clave."

Abigail was visibly shocked, her hand flying to her mouth in an uncharacteristic gesture of surprise. She staggered back as if Jonathan had hit her. Samuel moved to comfort her, but before anyone could speak, a voice sounded from the doorway, touching all of their minds.

 _I will nominate Grace Cooper as a candidate for Ascension,_ said Brother Zachariah. His hood was up, shielding his face, and his hands were folded in front of him. None of the Shadowhunters had noticed him arrive—not even Abigail, who had been the one to call for him. _The Clave is more likely to accept such a request if it comes from a Silent Brother._

"Thank you, Brother Zachariah," Jonathan said; he seemed to have forgotten about the wound to his arm, which was now dripping blood and ichor. "Grace has been studying the _Codex,_ and I have told her about the Shadow World—"

" _Jonathan,"_ Abigail snapped. "You know that's against the Law until the marriage has been approved by the Clave—"

"Screw the Clave," Jonathan retorted. "I don't give a damn what they think."

Marcus leaned over and whispered something in his _parabatai's_ ear that sounded suspiciously like, "You mean screw Grace." The side of Jonathan's mouth quirked up in a smirk.

Zachariah stepped forward, his hood falling back slightly to reveal high cheekbones and dark hair, reaching out his hand to Jonathan's face and tilting his chin up with one long finger. Jonathan stared up at him in confusion, and Zachariah regarded him with his closed eyes. _I will try to help you, Jonathan Cartwright,_ he said. _But you, above all others, are the only one who can truly help yourself._

"J—Brother Zachariah," Abigail said, frowning at him. "What in Raziel's name are you talking about?" But Zachariah had already dropped his hand and bent over Jonathan's wound instead, his hood falling over his face and bathing him in shadows once again.

* * *

_**1962** _

Tessa leaned against the railing of Blackfriars Bridge, drawing her coat tighter around herself as a cool spring breeze blew across the Thames. It was early morning and the city was blanketed in a thick fog that made it nearly impossible to see more than ten feet ahead. Tessa couldn't see the pedestrians walking across the bridge until they were nearly right next to her, appearing out of the fog like ghosts before melting back into nothingness.

A tall, parchment-robed figure suddenly appeared in front of her, easily distinguishable from the masses of dark-coated mundanes surging down the path. Tessa raised her hand to Brother Zachariah in greeting, the anniversary bracelet Will had given her slipping down her arm.

It was not the date of their annual meeting, but there had been an unspoken agreement between them that they would see each other when the time came. Tessa smiled wistfully at him, the only link to her previous life. She often wondered what Zachariah thought about when he was trapped in the dark chambers of the Silent City—whether he thought about her, Will and Abby, or if he was able to concentrate solely on his work. If _she_ ever thought that she was lonely, Zachariah must have it a thousand times worse, even if he could no longer feel emotions as he once had. Tessa's heart ached for him.

"It's the seventh of March," she said, stuffing her hands into her pockets and hunching her shoulders, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Both of them knew what the date signified: Abby's birthdate.

Brother Zachariah nodded, but was not forthcoming with any other information. Tessa noticed the look on his face—or, at least, the part of it she could see—was similar to his expression when Will had told him that their son's name was James.

Tessa stared hard at Zachariah, as if she could somehow see past his closed eyes. "Do you…do you still think about her?" she asked quietly.

_Every day. I will never cease loving her, whether it has been a hundred years or a thousand._

Yet another wave of sadness washed over Tessa, but she forced it down this time; she was well-accustomed to despair. "I must admit I am looking forward to seeing her again, even if it is not for several years," she said. After all, what did several years matter when she had eternity?

Zachariah reached out and put one long, thin hand on the rail, as if steadying himself. It was such an uncommonly human gesture that Tessa frowned. _Are you not traveling to San Francisco to see them?_ he asked.

Tessa shook her head. "Although Jonathan knows that I am his great-grandmother, we have only met a handful of times. He would be puzzled if I appeared now, even if I have been keeping an eye on him and Grace. I do not think my presence would be welcome, not when he has been exiled from the Clave. Besides…I can celebrate Abby's birth, but I cannot celebrate the day that many of mine and Will's descendants are killed," Tessa said solemnly, referring to the upcoming Greater Demon attack on the Los Angeles Institute.

 _That is understandable,_ Zachariah agreed. His mental voice took on an almost warning aspect as he said, _I regret it, but I shall not actively prevent Jonathan Cartwright's death. I suppose it may be in my power, but I do not wish to upset the delicate balance of the future. As much as it pains me…_ he trailed off, a rare thing for a Silent Brother, and bowed his head.

"So we both agree not to interfere," Tessa said, turning to gaze across the river and give him a moment of privacy. "At least, not until we are called upon."

* * *

Grace had secretly called for Abigail after Jonathan was killed, knowing that she would respond despite her daughter-in-law's status as a mundane. And, although she had just lost her husband, her son, and the rest of the residents of the Los Angeles Institute—her family—the old woman had insisted that she wanted to see her granddaughter. So Grace found herself, four days after her husband had died, standing on the steps of the Institute with her eighteen-day-old daughter. She had driven all the way down from San Francisco by herself, all six hours of it, only stopping to make sure that Abby was safe and to calm her when she started to cry. She felt numb, hollow, like someone had torn out her insides until there was nothing left.

She raised one hand and knocked on the doors, glancing down at Abby to make sure she was still asleep. Luckily, she was, breathing peacefully in the blankets Grace had wrapped her in. Drawing her closer for comfort, Grace stood up as straight as she could as the door opened.

Abigail stood in the entryway, tall yet regal, with her once-dark hair streaked through with grey. There was a haunted look in her bright blue eyes, a look Grace knew was mirrored in her own. "Come here, child," Abigail whispered, and Grace leaned into her as they hugged, each trying hard not to cry and taking solace in the other.

"I didn't think you would allow me in," Grace said as they broke apart.

Abigail looked surprised. "Why ever not? You are my daughter-in-law."

"But I'm a mundane."

"And what does that matter? Do you think I care what the blasted Council says about that?" Abigail's English accent was beginning to creep into her voice, an old habit when was became upset. "You are my family, Grace, mundane or not."

Grace felt very comforted indeed as Abigail led her inside, into the warm and airy Institute with its torches that flared up even before she passed and its oak-panelled walls. She hadn't been in here since before she'd married Jonathan, but instead of being grieved she felt soothed.

"One of the Silent Brothers is here already," Abigail explained as she led Grace to the kitchen. "Brother Zachariah—you remember him, don't you? He would often patch up Jon and Marcus when they got into scuffles. What a pair, those two!" She chuckled dryly as they entered the room, where a tall Silent Brother in parchment-colored robes stood by the window, his hands clasped in front of him.

 _Grace Cartwright,_ he said. _I apologize for your loss. Jonathan was an extraordinarily brave and skilled Shadowhunter. You should be proud of him._

Grace bit her lip; out of all the Silent Brothers, Zachariah had always been the one she trusted the most. Jon had often talked about him with a sort of fondness, if one could even feel affection for the eerie, unnatural beings. "Thank you," she said softly.

Abigail took a seat at the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for Grace. Her eyes drifted to the bundle in Grace's arms. "Let me see the baby," she instructed, reaching out her arms.

Grace unwrapped the blankets from around Abby, who was still fast asleep, and handed her over to her grandmother, who cradled her in her arms. A tuft of blonde hair could just be seen sticking out from the blankets.

"Poor little thing, she has no idea what happened," Abigail murmured. "She'll never know her father."

"I'm going to raise her as a mundane," Grace said, quietly but firmly. "I don't want her to meet the same fate as her father. If she wants to become a Shadowhunter when she is older, fine, but…not now. She will not be raised as one."

 _It is difficult to escape one's true calling,_ Zachariah said, almost gently. _If one is destined to be a Shadowhunter, the life will find them regardless._

Grace took a deep breath. "I came here to ask for protection," she said in a beseeching tone, looking directly at Abigail. "The Greater Demon may have been slain, but demons always return. It has a grudge against Jonathan's family, and I do not know why, but I do know that if it ever does come back, it will go after Abby. I cannot protect her myself, but I know you can. Just…just keep an eye out. Warn me beforehand, and we will flee."

"Of course, child," Abigail said, placing Abby back in Grace's arms. "She needs to have the newborn protection ritual placed on her as well, or she will be susceptible to demonic influence. That is why I called for Brother Zachariah. And I know a female warlock who can stand in for an Iron Sister. I will call for Tessa, and we can perform the newborn ceremony."

"All right," Grace replied, as a vague memory of a brown-haired woman, who couldn't have been older than twenty-five, surfaced in her mind. Jonathan had introduced her as his great-grandmother, and although she had been baffled, she had learned to accept it as just another one of the oddities of the Shadow World. But she wasn't thinking of Tessa at the moment; she was thinking of her husband, and the fact that he had been killed just a hundred feet away from where she was standing. A wave of nausea burst inside her, and she wanted nothing more than to run to another room and either vomit or cry—she wasn't sure which—but that option wasn't available to her at the moment. Abigail had lost so much more than Grace had, and yet there was no trace of tears in her eyes.

So Grace Cartwright straightened up to her full height, which admittedly wasn't very tall, and when Tessa Gray walked through the door, Grace tried to smile. She wouldn't break down, not now. She had the rest of her life to do that.

After the obligatory greetings had been exchanged—Grace gladly handed Abby over when Tessa politely asked if she could hold her—Zachariah began to glide out of the room, and Grace could have sworn his gaze lingered on Tessa and the baby in her arms.

 _Follow me to the Silent City,_ he said, as distant as ever, and then he was gone.

* * *

_**1978** _

The doorbell rang not five minutes after Abby had left for school that morning. Grace was in the backyard gardening, and she quickly peeled off her gloves and raced back inside the house to the front door, wondering if it was their elderly neighbor wanting to borrow some flour. But when she opened the door, she was met with a very different face.

"Tessa Gray," she exclaimed, stepping aside so the other woman could walk in. "Do come in. How are you?"

Tessa smiled back, but it almost seemed an automatic gesture. It was clear that something was troubling her. "Good morning, Mrs Cartwright," she said politely, taking a seat on the sofa and glancing out the window, almost as if she expected something to be following her. Grace noticed something silver gleaming in her pocket, and guessed with no small amount of trepidation that it was a seraph blade.

"Call me Grace, please, dear," she said, trying to hide her concern. She was on friendly terms with Tessa, but even so, the only time the warlock contacted her was when Abby was in danger.

"Grace," Tessa corrected. Superficially, she didn't look at all out of place sitting in their bright, colorful living room, wearing a floral pastel dress from the previous decade and her hair loose and curled, but there was something frozen and unchanging about her, as if she had been plucked from a different era entirely and sent into the current one. Some small part of Grace could not help but feel uneasy around her. "I do apologize for interrupting, but I have reason to believe that a demon is following you and Abby." She paused. "A Greater Demon."

Grace gasped, and she had to sit down or she knew her legs would give out. For years, Tessa had been secretly contacting her without Abby's knowledge, keeping an eye out for the demons and Downworlders who had seen Abby and wished to harm her, sensing that she was a mundane who had not yet been corrupted by the Shadow World. During these times, Grace would make up some excuse about going on a vacation and she would take Abby to different cities and hotels across California, pretending that they were just doing it for fun. So far, Abby didn't seem to have suspected anything, despite once glimpsing Tessa and Magnus Bane from a distance, although she did know the basics of what she was, but Grace was aware the time would come when she would have to be told everything. Still, she had thought they had at least a few more years before the Greater Demon came back…

"I'm afraid that simply running from it will not work," Tessa explained, and there was something like pity in her eyes. "Greater Demons are excellent trackers, and even if you and Abby travel across the world, it will still be able to find you. The safest course of action now is to go to the Los Angeles Institute, where the Shadowhunters living there will offer you protection that I cannot."

Grace swallowed, wanting to protest, but nodded instead, knowing that it was the safest thing to do. Though she was still in contact with Abigail—the old woman was one of those, along with Tessa, the warlock Magnus Bane, and Brother Zachariah—who were protecting Abby, she knew that to bring her daughter to an Institute would mean she would have to become trained and learned in the ways of the Nephilim. Eventually she would never be allowed to see Grace again, since her mother was a mundane. Grace knew she was being selfish by deliberately not allowing Abby to make her own decision whether or not she wanted to be a Shadowhunter, but she would not lose Abby the way she had lost Jonathan.

"All right," Grace finally said, her voice quivering. She lowered her head so Tessa couldn't see her tears. "I'll bring Abby to the Los Angeles Institute."

"The threat is not immediate, but you must leave San Francisco as soon as she gets home," Tessa said, more gently. "Magnus Bane and I will meet you at a motel halfway there."

Grace frowned but didn't raise her head. "A motel?"

"Yes. There is…something that we must tell you as soon as you arrive. Magnus should be able to create wards that will prevent the demon from getting too close."

"So you just want me to leave Abby?" Grace asked. "You want me to stop in the middle of nowhere with no help for miles and just walk away from my daughter?" She tried to keep the accusing tone out of her voice, but she couldn't help it.

"The room is very close to Abby's," Tessa replied. She reached over and put her hand over Grace's, and the other woman was forced to look up. "I was a mother too, once," she said softly. "And I am not, by definition, a Shadowhunter, although like you, my husband was and I did fight alongside him and my children."

Grace blinked. "I…I wasn't blaming you…"

"I know you weren't." Tessa's grey eyes were wide and earnest now, beseeching Grace to listen to her. "Please believe me when I say that I know how difficult it is to give your children away to the Nephilim. You are quite correct in thinking they are often harsh and cruel. But that is the nature of their duties. Fighting demons is not a pleasant task. But it was in your husband's blood, and it is in your daughter's blood now, too. She must be the one to make the decision whether she wishes to join that world or not."

"Yes," Grace finally sighed. "I suppose you're right."


	32. Thirty-Two

**W** hen I was initially thrown back into the past, the sensation of traveling through time had been that of simultaneously falling down through a great black abyss, and of being yanked backward by some invisible force. Now it was the opposite: I felt as if I was being dragged forward and lifted upward, but the experience was no less pleasant than it had been the first time. At least now I knew what was actually _happening._

My head was still spinning when I brutally landed on a hard, rough surface, feeling concrete and gravel digging into my skin. I lay still for a moment, coughing, my nose pressed into the ground. My left shoulder was aching fiercely and I could barely feel my extremities.

 _Stand up, Abby,_ a voice echoed in the back of my mind. It sounded like Jem. _You are completely vulnerable to attackers now._

With my fingers digging into the concrete, I raised my head, my vision blurred. I was, as Magnus had promised, in a narrow, nondescript alleyway, with bags of garbage lining the sides. I was lucky I hadn't landed in one. _Lovely,_ I thought, pushing myself to my feet and staggering forward, bracing myself against the wall. My injured arm was beginning to go numb—at least the pain was fading.

I stumbled out of the alleyway onto a familiar street that was, again, just a stone's throw from the Institute—I could see its spire towering overhead in the distance—but that was all that was familiar. I knew this street by gaslamps and cobblestone paths; fog and horse-drawn carriages. Now it was midday and there wasn't a cloud in sight. The mysterious, alluring atmosphere was gone—now cars zoomed by on the streets, tourists talking and laughing loudly as they made their way down the sidewalks. I watched it with empty eyes. This was familiar—this was _home—_ but it was also foreign. Did I not truly belong in either world, then?

This time was devoid of the people I loved most. Jem was nothing but ashes now, rotting in the depths of the Silent City. So were Will, and Charlotte, and Henry, and Sophie…

I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to cry, and began to limp down the street, too worked up to even draw an _iratze_ on myself. I still couldn't quite believe I was actually in 1978. I wondered if I ought not to still be in 1878, and my supposed "real" life was the dream.

What had Magnus said? To go to the Institute and then contact him? When I found myself at the courtyard, completely unchanged except for the distant roar of cars in the background, I nearly collapsed on the ground crying. There was an agonizing pressure in my heart that was spreading throughout my entire body, and I had a horrible feeling that I was going to faint. My last sight of Jem had been here, in this very place, and I had to swallow my nausea as I stared at the serene grass in front of me; no one would ever suspect it was the site of a bloody battle a century before. But then again, wasn't that what Shadowhunters were supposed to do? Erase all traces of the past?

I climbed up the short set of stairs to the front doors and reached up to knock, but realized I couldn't even move my left arm now. In fact, it didn't even feel like it was there at all. I reached around with my other arm and gently touched the wound; my fingers came away red and black. A dizzying vertigo washed over me, and my legs finally gave way as I fell to the ground.

I wasn't sure how long I was slumped against the Institute's front doors, half-conscious and staring blankly across the courtyard, expecting that at any moment I would see Cyril with the carriage, or Bridget going to the stables, or Jem standing in front of me, leaning on his cane, and smiling shyly at me as he asked if I wanted to go for a walk.

Oh, God.

Jem.

_Jem._

My fiancé.

Dead.

He was dead.

With the last bit of concentrated energy I had, I stared down at my left arm to see the Carstairs ring still on my finger, now splattered with blood. My head lolled back, and I went limp just as the door opened behind me.

"By the Angel!" a man's voice exclaimed. "Imogen—there's a girl out here!"

I felt my head crack on the ground, and someone reached out their hand to support my neck, but it was too late. My tongue felt like cotton in my mouth, too heavy to form words, as I said, "I'm…I'm injured. Please…help me." For my sluggish brain was somehow certain that I wasn't going into shock, or I would have already fainted—it was the wound from the automaton, the one I had initially shrugged off, that was my biggest problem at the moment.

Now two faces swirled over me—Imogen and who I assumed was her husband. She looked stern, a woman not to be crossed, but it wasn't her I was interested in—I was staring at the man, who had dark, dark hair, and eyes a shade of blue that I had only seen on one other person in my life. But it was the faded _parabatai_ rune on his arm that gave him away. "Marcus," I slurred. "Marcus Herondale." My father's _parabatai._ Will's descendant.

"Abby Cartwright," he murmured in shock, and part of my mind wished he was Will. "But…how is this possible? I thought you were—"

I never got to hear the end of his sentence, as darkness, bleaker and more permanent than I had ever seen, rushed up to meet me, and I lost all forms of consciousness.

* * *

My limbs were heavy, as if they were weights tying me down to the bed. The pain in my shoulder was blazing, and I ought to have been screaming by now, but I couldn't move—my mind was drifting somewhere outside my body, like I was floating above the room with only minimal knowledge of my physical form. Marcus was leaning over me, drawing Marks on my skin with a stele, but I couldn't even feel the tip pressing on me, let alone its effects.

"She's dying," I heard him say, dimly, and a part of me was almost relieved and wished that death would stop taking its time, because my current state was very uncomfortable.

There was a knock at the infirmary doors; it seemed to jolt me back into my own body, so that I was no longer floating aimlessly in space but lying down again, paralyzed; I saw Imogen glance at Marcus and heard her mutter, "That was fast—I called for them not two minutes ago," and then the world suddenly fell away from me, a black abyss opening up before me. I tried to recall Jem's face—Tessa's—even Will's—but there was nothing.

Only darkness.

"Brother Zachariah," Imogen was saying, surprise coloring her voice. "I called for Brother Enoch, but—"

I didn't hear the rest of her sentence, as a white-hot pain slashed through my arm, and I was suddenly thrust completely into my own body again. It sharpened my senses and for a moment I was aware of everything—the way the weak sunlight illuminated the infirmary's walls; the dust floating in the air; the hard mattress against my back. Marcus's eyes widened as he stared at me, seemingly registering the change, and he called out "Imogen!" in a sharp voice.

But the moment of clarity had lasted barely a second, and my vision had already begun to blur again. The abyss was rushing up to meet me as my body finally surrendered to the poison, and my last sight was of Imogen stepping aside to let a hooded figure into the room before the darkness swallowed everything.

* * *

My consciousness was the first sense to come back to me, as it usually was, but this time my other senses didn't follow suit. I was nothing but a mind lost in the darkness, and I wondered if this was death: just your mind—soul—whatever it _was_ —hovering in the dark, stuck with all the memories you'd had during your life.

I would almost have preferred eternal oblivion.

But no sooner had this thought taken shape when I became aware of something else—touch. My brain wasn't the only thing I had left—my body was still present, and I could _feel_ life beginning to take shape in my body again, as if blood had started to rush through my veins, lighting my muscles and tendons and cells.

But I wasn't relieved. If I possessed a body, that meant I could still feel, and I didn't want to experience that rush of aching loss again when I remembered where I had come from. I braced myself for that all-consuming wave of agony, but nothing happened.

Nothing. There was an empty space inside me where my heart should have been, as if the loss of Jem and Will and Charlotte and Henry and Sophie and everyone else I had loved in 1878 had bled my heart dry until there was nothing but an empty shell where it should have been. I would rather have felt the pain.

Something cool was pressing against my wrist, and fingers were lightly brushing my skin, as if searching for a pulse. It was the first physical sensation I'd experienced since I had become _aware_ again, and I clung to it, forcing my hand to close around the other person's, which felt familiar in a thousand ways I was currently not ready to face. My fingers landed on the rough, coarse material of what seemed to be a robe etched with markings, and I felt like a blind person reaching out to memorize someone's appearance.

The hand that I had caught hold of gently untangled my fingers from theirs, although they didn't let go of my own hand. Now I could feel the faint throb of a pulse behind my skin, but whether it was their heart or mine I had no idea. My eyes felt sewn shut, as heavy as boulders, and it was impossible for me to open them.

Another hand—although judging by the temperature and texture I knew it was the same person who was holding my wrist—pressed against my forehead, perhaps checking for a fever, before the slight pressure was lifted—though I thought I felt fingers brush against my cheek for barely a second—and my hand was placed back at my side. I mourned the loss of contact, but I could do nothing about it as I slowly sank into unconsciousness again.

* * *

The next awakening was thankfully more normal—my eyes opened at the same time I regained my sense of hearing, touch, and smell—finding myself propped up in the same bed in the infirmary, this time the room illuminated more brightly with the sun—I could feel it streaming through the windows and warming my skin.

Marcus was sitting on a chair next to the bed, watching me with evident concern lining his face, and I had to look away from his faded _parabatai_ rune. There was no one else present except for a Silent Brother standing at the doors, his hood pulled up to completely conceal his face and his fingers laced together in front of him.

 _Brother Zachariah,_ I thought, hazily remembering him from my father's journal and the few dreams I'd had where he had been a dim, shadowy figure standing in the background but never speaking. It must have been him, I realized, who had been touching me—healing my wounds and making sure my condition was stable. If Dad had trusted him, it was likely he knew who I was.

"Thank Raziel, you're awake," Marcus breathed, and I flinched slightly at the sound, ringing in the silence that I had just been drowning in. "For a while there I didn't know if you would pull through…" He let out a relieved breath, and I knew he wasn't so concerned about the fact that I, Abby, had nearly died than the fact that his ex _-parabatai's_ daughter had nearly died. And I couldn't blame him. "Do you know what kind of demon gave you that bite?"

 _Not a demon,_ I thought. _An automaton._ But of course I couldn't tell him that, and so I merely shrugged, which turned out to be a bad decision as my shoulder hurt from the movement. "I don't know," I said, my voice hoarse and dry.

Marcus looked disappointed as he picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and handed it to me; I accepted it gratefully. "I don't suppose you would—I assume Grace has kept you hidden all these years. But sooner or later…" He trailed off, and I didn't object, knowing that to let him believe that I was little more than a mundane was preferable to me lying outright.

But wouldn't Brother Zachariah have realized that I was a Shadowhunter? My eyes flickered over to him, but he did not correct Marcus's train of thought—in fact, he had not spoken once.

At once, I was glad that I hadn't thought to put any runes on myself—surely Marcus would have spotted them by now. "She told me about the Shadow World," I explained, although it wasn't strictly true. "I…I decided not to become a Shadowhunter."

"I thought so," Marcus murmured. "But, Raziel, you look like your father…" He sighed heavily, looking away from me. "I apologize. Has Grace told you who I am? That I was… _am_ Jonathan's _parabatai?"_

I nodded. "I know who you are," I said softly. "I just didn't know that you and your wife ran the London Institute." _Of all the Shadowhunter families…_ it was like another stab to my heart, being reminded so painfully of the past I had just left.

"Oh, the Herondales have been the heads of the London Institute for nearly a century. Our son, Stephen—he's not much younger than you, come to think of it—is at school in Idris right now, but when he comes of age he will inherit the responsibility, and so will his children after him."

Now that my head was beginning to clear, I could concentrate fully on my situation. The shock was beginning to wear off, and I knew I wouldn't be able to properly grieve until I went back to California. Judging by the time, I was several hours ahead of schedule—and San Francisco was eight hours behind London. I was lucky I hadn't been unconscious for the entire day.

"I need to see Magnus Bane," I announced, pushing myself up on my elbows and staring directly at Marcus; I briefly wondered why Brother Zachariah hadn't left yet. "He's the only one who can get me back home."

Marcus frowned. "Pardon me?"

I inwardly groaned; I hadn't planned this far ahead. All of my energy had been focused on actually staying alive long enough to get to the Institute. "You see, I…I'm not supposed to be here. I accidentally stumbled into a Portal and found myself in London. Magnus Bane is the warlock who invented them, is he not? So I need him to get me back to California, preferably before my mother notices I'm gone."

"So you came across a Portal that took you all the way to London?" Marcus asked. I couldn't tell whether his tone was accusatory or not.

"I, uh, I guess you could say that," I said weakly.

Marcus raised his eyebrows, but didn't question me any further. Perhaps he knew it was in his best interest to accept my explanation. "Very well," he said, and stood up. "I shall go contact him. Hopefully he can be reached—he is notorious for not answering a summons."

"Oh, I think he'll be available now," I muttered.

"Brother Zachariah, would you stay here with her?" Marcus asked as he crossed the infirmary to the wide double doors. "There is a chance she might react poorly to the healing runes."

I knew that there was _no_ chance I would react poorly, as they were all _iratzes_ I recognized as having used before, but I didn't betray my dark amusement as Marcus strode out of the room. As soon as he was gone, I glanced up at the Silent Brother still present. There was something I had wanted to ask him ever since I had first heard his name.

"You knew my father," I said, staring across the room at Brother Zachariah. "He mentioned you in his journal. He said he trusted you."

The Silent Brother inclined his head once in a nod but did not speak.

I hesitated. "Did he…did he ever contact you?"

Zachariah took a step forward, and raised one hand to push his hood back slightly. I had been expecting a shaved head and stitched eyes, but was met with the opposite: his eyes were merely closed, and I didn't think his mouth was stitched, either. Dark hair spilled out from beneath the edges of his hood, and one could be forgiven for thinking they were merely shadows.

I sat up straighter, my heart quickening its pace. I had the feeling that I was missing out on something—something very important, and I couldn't figure it out, because I hadn't paid attention when I was supposed to—

"Who are you?" I gasped.

 _Abby,_ Zachariah said, and that one word was all I needed to hear. It was the one voice I had believed I would never hear again echoing in my mind.

Shock ripped through me with such intensity that I felt dizzy, and I began to shake my head. "No," I said, certain I was still dreaming. "This is impossible—"

Zachariah's hood fell back completely, and although he did not look exactly like I remembered him—with a single streak of silver against his now black hair, and there were two runes slashed across his high cheekbones—I would recognize his face anywhere, no matter how changed he was.

 _"Jem,"_ I breathed. I pressed my hand to my forehead as if I could somehow absorb the information easier. "But you— _how—?"_

Zachariah— _Jem—_ took another step toward me, one hand outstretched as if trying to reach for me. I had thought his skin was pale before, when the _yin fen_ had bled it of all pallor, but now it was perfectly colorless. Some part of my mind was wondering if he was a ghost, and any moment I would be able to see right through him.

 _After the battle, when it became clear I could no longer survive and Charlotte sent the Brothers to retrieve my body, I asked Brother Enoch to take me to the Silent City. I knew the transformation would be extraordinarily painful, and indeed—_ he stopped, but I had heard all I needed to. Half of my brain was still trying to digest that Jem was standing in front of me, _not dead,_ and the other half was trying to reconcile this still, monotone creature with my fiancé. His mental voice was the same, but there was a coldness to his movements, a distance to his tone, that had never been present before.

"But…but why?" I choked. "Why did you do it? You told me that you didn't want to be immortal—"

 _Silent Brothers are not immortal. I shall live for several thousand years at most._ He paused and clasped his hands behind his back, gliding over to the foot of my bed. I stared up at him, and was struck by a feeling that I had no idea how to explain, or even describe. I did not want to see Jem like this. I would rather he be alive, even if he was far removed from the Jem I knew, but even so, some part of me wanted to run screaming from the infirmary. The fact that he _wasn't_ the Jem I remembered terrified me the most, as if one of Mortmain's automatons had taken his place.

 _But you are quite right,_ Zachariah continued, and bowed his head. _I did not wish to take this path. But Tessa was captured by the automatons, who in turn brought her to Mortmain, and of course Will went after her. I could not send them and the rest of the Institute to their deaths. I had to help them, and becoming a Silent Brother was the only way I could do so._

I thought of Jem's unwavering loyalty, his extreme self-sacrifice, and knew that I should have guessed it before. He had given up his possibility of seeing his parents again, of being reborn into another life, to save the people he loved most in the world. He had willingly given up light and laughter and music and condemned himself to a millennium in the Silent City, all so his _parabatai_ and close friends could live. And he had existed all this time. While I'd grown up, blissfully ignorant and unaware of the Shadow World, he had always been present, perhaps even keeping an eye on me. And that didn't even include my father's trust in him. Had he possibly known about me? "Oh, Jem," I sighed, wringing my hands together. How had I not seen it before? The truth about Brother Zachariah had been right in front of my face the entire time, and I had been too blind to see it. "Now you're going to tell me that Will is a Silent Brother, too!"

Zachariah pulled his hood back over his head to hide his face, and turned away from me. There was a long, pained silence, and I immediately regretted my words. _No,_ he said, his voice more toneless than I had ever heard it. _Will passed away forty-one years ago, in 1937._

I had already anticipated his answer, but the difference between anticipating something and actually hearing it was startling. At least he had lived a long life. "I imagine…Tessa must still be very upset about that," I said softly, deliberately leaving Jem out of the equation. I knew my callous comment had hurt him, and I was mentally kicking myself.

 _I do not think one can simply forget about a love like the one Will and Tessa shared,_ Zachariah said. He did not bring his own feelings into the statement, and I supposed it was the stiff mask of the Silent Brothers forbidding him from revealing anything remotely personal.

I frowned. "Like the one they shared?"

Zachariah nodded. _They were married not long after you left. Tessa and I were both present on the day of Will's passing, as were their children and grandchildren._

"Children?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Tessa's children? But she is a warlock…"

 _She is a special kind of warlock,_ Zachariah explained. _But that explanation is not mine to give._

Somehow the thought of seeing Tessa again calmed me. I sucked in a deep breath. I stared around for something to say, and decided on the location. "So you…you were always planning to meet me here at the Institute?"

 _It has been one hundred years, Abby. I have prepared many speeches. But I did not expect you to return injured. I did not expect our first meeting to be like this._ He was still turned away from me, as if he was staring out the window. I wondered how often he saw sunlight, and my heart clenched.

"Jem. Zachariah. Whatever you call yourself now. Please look at me." And he did, turning his blind eyes in my direction; I had the sense he was giving me his full attention, as Jem so often did, but there was an aura of stiff formality to the entire exchange.

"Do you love me?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected, considering the situation.

He gave a startled jolt, as if my words had roused him, and drifted forward. I watched warily as he knelt down and took my hands in his, closing his long violinist's fingers around them. _I have always loved you, Abby,_ he said. _Every second of every day._ I thought I heard an undercurrent of emotion in his tone. Was there a deeply buried well of humanity somewhere in his armor, waiting to burst through?

"Then please answer this question." I inhaled through my nostrils, the sound almost deafening in the near-deathly quiet room. "Was part of your reasoning to become a Silent Brother because you knew you would be able to see me again?"

 _The possibility occurred to me,_ he admitted. _But I knew that it would never be the relationship we had before._

"It can be—" I started to argue.

 _No, Abby._ His tone was quiet but firm. _Silent Brothers cannot marry nor have children. Go back out into the world and find someone else, have children, live a life with them._

My eyes filled with tears. "And what are you going to do?" I whispered. "We'll still see each other. You will know what becomes of me. You might even have to attend the wedding—perform the newborn ceremony on our children."

 _And I will bear it,_ Brother Zachariah replied. He let go of my hands and stood up, turning his back to me. _I will bear anything as long as I know you are safe and happy. That is all I ever wanted._

The tears spilled over my eyes, and I whispered brokenly, "Don't you feel anything? Don't you remember the…" I wanted to say "the night we spent together", but I couldn't force the words out. It was a horribly dissonant feeling, trying to reconcile the distant, scarred Silent Brother with the Jem I had spent hours lying in bed with as we explored each other inside and out.

 _I remember everything,_ said Brother Zachariah, his back still to me. _But I knew the price I would have to pay when I chose this path._

"Oh, God," I whispered. "I love you. Nothing is going to change that. It has been a century for you, but hours for me. There is still hope—"

 _You knew we would have to part someday._ He turned around, London's rare sunlight streaming through the window and shining onto his dark hair. There was a single line of silver streaked through it, the only reminder of Jem left in his appearance. If it hadn't been present, I wondered if I would have made the connection at all.

"But I didn't expect that you would still be here," I accused, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing up. "Besides, I never expected to find anyone after you. As long as you are alone, I am alone too."

My voice broke on the last word. Brother Zachariah stared down at me blindly, and I started toward him, not even sure myself what I was doing. But somehow I found myself in his arms, sobbing against his chest. I expected him to push me away, but he didn't, instead placing his hands flat on my back and drawing me close to him. His heart beat against my chest, and I was shocked to feel that he was still human; I would have believed the Silent Brothers were ice. While I cried, mourning what had been and what should have been and what would never be, his hands moved lightly around my body until they were resting on my waist, dipping into the curve of my hips. It should have been an intimate gesture, but he was far too formal for that—it was as if he had placed them in the correct position to push me away. His robes felt scratchy and rough; I could only imagine what my face looked like.

When I had no more tears to cry, I turned my tearstained face back up towards him. "Well," I blubbered, sniffling, "What a way to see me again. I must look horrid. At least you know you're not missing out on much."

His voice echoed in my head, something that was almost a sigh. _Abigail,_ he said, and one of his hands disappeared from around my waist to come up to my chin, raising it with one long finger. _I am not like other Silent Brothers. I still retain my appearance, and I am not as powerful as them. In short, my heart still beats. I can still feel. Tessa is what kept me human this past century. And…the thought of you, that I might see you again, even if I could not have you. I held on because I knew that you still existed in the world._

"What does that mean?" I whispered.

_It means that I have never ceased loving you. I told you that there was no period of time, nothing that could ever occur, that would diminish my feelings for you. And that still holds true. You are too much a part of me—to let go of you would mean letting go of myself. Being a Silent Brother is like living in a glass cage, to be able to dimly see and hear the world but not to be truly a part of it. But do not think that it means I have forgotten you, or that I would not do anything in my power to make you happy. You are still every bit a part of me as you were a century ago. But it is not the same._

"So…" I choked. "So does this mean I will never see you again?"

_No. We will still see each other occasionally, if only on a superficial level. But, Abby, you must understand that it will risk both of our lives if anyone were to discover this. The Brothers know, as do Tessa and Magnus Bane, but they have all been sworn to secrecy._

I nodded. "Then, if this is to be our last parting as Abby and Jem, let me say goodbye to you. _Please."_

Brother Zachariah was still for a long moment, and then he inclined his head slightly. I reached up and placed my hands on his shoulders, trying in vain to see something past his blind eyes. Standing up on my toes, I leaned forward and kissed his scarred lips.

I sensed rather than heard his groan; he was completely still, but made no move to pull away. I took my lips away from his for a brief moment, pressing them to the scars under his eyes and then to his eyes themselves. His right hand was still cupping my chin; when I brought my lips back to his he pulled it away, but drew me closer to him, crushing me against his chest. I gave a small cry and stumbled back, falling backward onto the bed.

He buried his face in my shoulder, his arms still around me, and I could feel him shuddering, for Silent Brothers could not cry. I in turn rested my lips in his hair, his wonderfully, beautifully dark hair, and whispered, _"Wo ai ni, yi sheng yi si,_ James Carstairs," over and over, knowing it was the last time we would ever hold each other like this.

_I will love you forever, James Carstairs._

* * *

When Marcus and Imogen returned to the infirmary, Zachariah had returned back to his original position by the doors, and I was lying on the bed, desperately hoping that he couldn't read my mind. It was a whirlwind of every possible emotion—relief, pain, love, despair—and I was scrambling to think of something to say, but my mouth couldn't form the words. We had held each other for a long moment, and then Zachariah had stood up and retreated without a word. I supposed, in time, I would feel happy that at least Jem was alive, but right now I was being selfish and mourning my loss. It would make things moving on that much more difficult, wouldn't it, with that knowledge? And I despised myself even more for thinking that way. But I didn't breathe a word of it; I merely kept my eyes on Zachariah, searching for something that would further tie him to Jem. The more human he was, I believed, the happier I would be.

"Magnus Bane is waiting downstairs," Imogen told me. She had a stern, though not unfair, manner about her, but it was so unlike Charlotte's warmth and hospitality that I wanted to cry again. "Brother Zachariah, is she fit to travel?"

 _Yes,_ Jem said, folding his hands in front of him. _The wound on her shoulder should be healed in a matter of days._

"Thank you," Imogen replied, and this seemed to be taken as a silent dismissal. Zachariah inclined his head toward me slightly. _I shall not be far away, Abby_ , he said, and I guessed the words were directed towards me alone. I could barely bring myself to nod as he turned away and vanished through the infirmary doors.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Marcus asked me in an almost fatherly manner, putting a hand on my arm. "You look pained."

I _was_ pained—agonized, in fact, but of course he did not know that. "Not physically," I admitted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Marcus looked concerned, but did not question me any further.

I gathered up my purse from the bedside table and slung it over my shoulder as the two adults led me out of the infirmary and through the quiet halls of the Institute, still identical to how I had known them. Everything was so painfully familiar that at any moment I expected to see Will skulking the corridor in front of Tessa's room, or hear Jem's violin music pouring out from underneath the door…

To my mingled delight and horror, instead of taking the main staircase Marcus led us down the very hallway that held the most memories for me. I reached out and brushed my fingers across the wall, as if I could somehow absorb their essence, and when I dropped my gaze I almost expected to see an elegant dress swishing around my legs instead of ordinary blue jeans.

The door to my room—or at least, what had once been my room—was slightly ajar, and I glanced inside it as I passed. It had never been personalized to begin with; Shadowhunters were not encouraged to decorate Institutes, especially if they were only living there temporarily, but still…the bedroom had a cold air to it that I had never experienced before, even without a fire blazing in the grate. How many other Shadowhunters had stayed there over the past hundred years? Now it was as impersonal as the motel room had been.

"Abby?" Marcus asked in puzzlement; he and Imogen had stopped at the top of the staircase, clearly wondering why I had stopped.

"Sorry," I mumbled, and hurried after them. Jem's door was ajar too, and I knew that his room would look much the same as mine, with nothing to signify that a lovely dying boy had once resided there.

I missed the London Institute of 1878, and everyone in it. I missed Charlotte and Henry. I missed Sophie and Cyril and Bridget. I missed Cecily, and Gideon, and even Gabriel. But most of all, I missed Will and Tessa and Jem. I even missed _Church,_ that bloody, feral cat.

"Well, there's a face I never thought I'd see again."

I whirled around, half-mad and wondering if the events of the past day had just been an awful nightmare and I was beginning to wake up. But I could still see Marcus and Imogen some feet ahead of me, not noticing that I had halted again. Silhouetted in the doorway of the drawing-room was a pale, transparent figure, wearing a bloodstained dress and her hair as short as a boy's. The ghost of Jessamine Lovelace stared boldly back at me, her brown eyes as unfriendly as ever, but perhaps, if I dared even think it, wiser.

"Jessamine," I said in a low voice. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you."

She raised her eyebrows. "I take it you have seen Brother Zachariah."

"Yes," I said after a moment. "I have. Jessie…I'm sorry." I was, of course, thinking of seeing her corpse by the carriages, killed by Mortmain's automatons and erasing all hope of a future unmarred by the Nephilim.

She snorted. "Don't waste your breath," she said. "I do not need nor want your pity. You and Jem were far too generous with your love—that is why I disliked both of you. I much preferred Will. At least he was honest with his hatred."

"Oh," was all I could think to reply, unable to resist adding a touch of sarcasm. "Thank you, Jessie."

"Your father never did contact Jem, but he did know and trust him," she said, sending my head spinning. "But not because of you."

"Sorry—what are you talking about? How do you know—"

"He was quite handsome, you know," Jessamine mused. Her eyes took on a faraway quality, and I thought I saw the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Who?"

"Jonathan Cartwright."

I rolled my eyes. "Pity he's not a ghost like you. Maybe you could have started something."

Jessamine crossed her arms. "He wouldn't become a ghost. He would have moved on. People only become ghosts when they have unfinished business."

"My father had unfinished business!"

"Did he?"

"Yes! He left my mother and I behind—"

"Oh, Abby," she mocked derisively. "You are still as naïve as you always were. Leaving someone behind doesn't mean that you will return as a ghost—all Shadowhunters would be ghosts if it were that simple. I mean something that ties them to their mortal life. It's usually an object."

I thought of Jessie's dollhouse, how it had been her prized possession. "Your father wasn't stupid," Jessamine sneered. "He knew what he was getting into. He knew that he would die. Do you honestly think he wouldn't have prepared for such an outcome?"

I stared at her.

"Was your father such a saint after all? He abandoned his wife and child on what everyone knew would be a suicide mission. Was he extraordinarily brave or extraordinarily idiotic? And don't even get me started on your mother. She knew what she was getting into when she married a Shadowhunter, but still chose to risk everything. She has always kept secrets from you, Abby." Jessamine raised her eyebrows. "Now do you see why I did not want to be a Shadowhunter? They put their duties above everything else. Over family, over love…"

"Shut up," I snapped at her, anger suddenly overtaking my usually rational train of thought, and began to walk forward again. "Good luck moving on, _Jessie_."

"Good girl," I thought I heard her purr after me. "You've changed just as I thought you would."

But I didn't have time to turn around and ask her what that meant—I recognized Magnus standing by the front doors now, a Portal shimmering behind him. He smiled at me, just as unchanged as the Institute, his eyes glimmering in the light. "Are you ready?" he asked.

 _No,_ I thought, but I stepped forward and looked him directly in the eyes. "Yes. I am."


	33. Thirty-Three

**T** he motel was exactly halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles, miles from any town or city. It was the worst place to stop if someone was being pursued—which had turned out to be exactly my problem. What on earth had my mother been _thinking,_ checking into such a place when she had known we were being chased?

I bit down on my bottom lip as hard as I could, hoping the pain would distract me from thinking about Brother Zachariah's last words: _I shall not be far away, Abby._ What did he mean by that? Did it mean that he would be keeping a watch on me to make sure I was safe, or was he simply referring to the fact that he was in the Silent City if I ever needed him, and not dead like I had briefly believed?

But thinking about Jem hurt too much—even though I knew he was alive, he was as distant from me as if he _had_ died. I would still have to mourn him, but in a different way. I had still lost him. Now blinking furiously to stop the tears that threatened to spill over, I stared upward, at the night sky stretching over the desert, and watched the twinkling lights of an airplane slowly crossing high above us. It streaked over the horizon, and I couldn't help but remember another night, over a century ago, when Jem and I had been staring up at the stars.

"Here we are," Magnus announced cheerfully; we had stepped out of the Portal a ways away from the motel so the mundanes wouldn't notice anything suspicious. I reluctantly tore my eyes from the twinkling array of stars and back down to the ground. We were standing in the middle of the parking lot; I could see the fluorescent lights glowing in the motel lobby and heard the distant hum of the vending machine. We were luckily right on schedule—I guessed that my past self would be emerging from the room at any moment in search of food. "Bit of a…dull place, isn't it?" Magnus looked disapproving.

I was inclined to agree with him—then again, I knew the mighty warlock Magnus Bane would never be caught dead willingly in a desolate, shabby old building like this. "Well, it wasn't my idea," I muttered.

A low rumble of thunder sounded from above us, and I noticed that the clear sky was fast being overtaken by oppressive clouds. Magnus sighed, as if imagining getting his outfit wet, and set off on his long legs towards the motel. I jogged after him, and reached the overhang just as it began to pour.

He was holding one of the doors open for me, and I ran through it, smiling gratefully at him as I passed. "Thank—" I began to say, but stopped in the middle of my sentence as I realized exactly _where_ we were. I doubted I would have guessed had it not been for the television loudly broadcasting an obnoxious, forgettable sitcom.

This was the same room I had paused in front of when I had first realized I was being pursued by a demon, and considered asking the people inside for help. But I was immediately glad I hadn't, because sitting on the edge of one of the beds was my mother, looking painfully familiar, and standing by the window was Tessa.

My eyes went to Mom first, and I was struck by a childish desire to run into her arms and bury my face in her shoulder. Had the day gone any differently, I just might have. But I was frozen to the spot, staring blankly at my mother and Tessa. Seeing them both in the same room, in the same place, was baffling somehow, as if I was dangling between two different eras. It was almost shocking to see Tessa dressed in a pair of denim jeans, not unlike my own, and a dark purple sweater that was pushed up to her elbows. A delicate pearl bracelet sparkled on her wrist. Seeing her wearing modern clothes and her hair undone instead of an elaborate Victorian dress and her hair tied up in a bun was completely foreign. I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. She looked slightly older than she had when I had known her; perhaps in her early twenties instead of her teens. She looked like a perfectly normal young woman, and not the immortal warlock I knew her to be—a warlock who could somehow bear children.

I wanted to stride forward confidently and greet Tessa, pretend to my mother that everything was fine, but I collapsed like a house of cards when I met her gaze. "Mom," I whispered brokenly, and ran into her arms.

She hugged me back, but it was clear she was confused. "Are you all right, Abby?" she asked, pulling back and observing me closely. "You look a bit peaky. I'm sorry I left you, but it was planned out in advance—" Mom stood up and nodded at Tessa, who smiled sweetly at me, her eyes wide and innocent. "Abby, this is Tessa Gray. She and Magnus Bane are both warlocks who have agreed to help me with certain…problems."

"Pleased to meet you, Abby," Tessa said. She extended a hand, and I automatically reached out to take it. Tessa pulled me close, and whispered in my ear, "We haven't told her."

I nodded, a silent understanding passing between us. Jem had said that only himself, Tessa, Magnus, and the Silent Brothers knew about my time back in the past, and I didn't intend to tell anyone else, not even my own mother. But that didn't mean she herself didn't have some explaining to do.

"You're the reason why she left after we arrived here," I realized with a start, glancing back and forth between Tessa and Mom. "You and Magnus."

"Abby," my mother began slowly, "I know you have not been exposed to the Shadow World very often, and I owe you an explanation—"

"Yes, Mom," I said, my voice more even than I thought it would be. "I believe there are many things you haven't told me."

* * *

Before I had stepped through the Portal, Marcus had taken me by the arm and pulled me aside. "Abby, I don't know what Grace has told you about Jonathan, but…" He shuffled from foot to foot, and I saw him glance down at his _parabatai_ rune, faded now to a dim white. "He was just a teenager when he was killed," he said quietly. "He was just eighteen. Jonathan didn't always make the wisest of decisions, and he never thought before he acted. His decision to be stripped of his Marks and marry your mother was not exactly…planned."

"Were you angry at him?" I asked.

Marcus looked sheepish. "Yes. He came to me the day before and apologized in advance. The pain of being ripped from your _parabatai_ is like nothing you have ever experienced."

I winced, thinking of Jem and Will.

"I wanted to hate him," Marcus continued. "But I couldn't. I know I would have done the same for Imogen. Jon, he…he promised that he would contact me. He was willing to go against the Clave—I knew he was still speaking to his family. Through Brother Zachariah, I believe."

"But he didn't contact you," I said softly.

Marcus shook his head. "According to Abigail—your grandmother—he and Grace had barely gotten married and eloped to San Francisco when she became pregnant. I think he tried his hardest to stay unnoticed during that time in case anyone decided to track him down. And then you were born, and a Greater Demon attacked the Los Angeles Institute. Jon had to make the choice whether to stay with you and your mother and let his family die, or fulfill his duty as a Shadowhunter, even an ex-Shadowhunter, one more time, even if he knew he would surely die. He chose the latter. Jon was always the more devoted Shadowhunter…"

I sucked in a sharp breath, surprise momentarily overtaking me. "He…he knew?" I asked. "He knew he would die?"

"Yes," Marcus said, and put a hand on my shoulder. "This is what I meant when I said I don't know what Grace has told you, but that is the truth—or at least the truth the way I see it. But that does not mean he abandoned you. Knowing Jon, I'm convinced that he made contingency plans and prepared for the worst-case scenario. It may become something you understand in time, Abby."

There had been a time when I used to think of my father as a hero, charging bravely into battle to save his family and dying a noble death. But after what Jessamine and now Marcus had told me, I wondered if I should begin seeing him as a reckless, hot-blooded teenager thinking he could save the world and deserting his wife and daughter in the process. I felt betrayed and deceived. Why hadn't Mom told me any of this? She'd had me believe that he was confident he would return home safely.

Dad hadn't been a sentimental person. Had that been, I realized with a jolt, the entire purpose of his journal? Had he known he was going to die eventually, and thus began a journal as a way to leave something behind?

I looked up at Marcus's open, earnest face, and tried to smile. "Thank you for telling me this, Mr Herondale."

"Please call me Marcus," he said. "Your father was a good man, Abby. If you resent him for everything else, just remember that."

* * *

The memory abruptly vanished as I came back to the motel room, vaguely aware that Magnus had closed the door against the storm and was standing just behind me. Tessa reached for the remote and switched the television off as I stared at Mom, who, astonishingly, looked uncomfortable under my gaze. Usually it was the other way around.

"Well," my mother began in a shaky voice, "I'll start with the most pressing explanation. We are here because a Greater Demon—the same Greater Demon that attacked the Los Angeles Institute just after you were born and…killed your father—has been following you. It appears to have some sort of vendetta against the Cartwrights for reasons that nobody appears to know."

I, of course, knew the reason, but I didn't mention it. "So that's the reason you've been dragging me on all those trips over the years," I mused. "Because the Greater Demon was following us."

Mom nodded. "And that brings us to Tessa and Magnus. You might not remember, but we met them once, when you were eleven—"

"I remember," I said, my voice harder than I intended. A look of hurt flashed across Mom's face, but she haltingly continued.

"They have been keeping a close watch on the Greater Demon, as have your grandmother Abigail and one of the Silent Brothers. They asked me to stop here instead of going straight to the Institute. Magnus has put wards around the area that will hopefully keep the demon out."

I turned around and met Magnus's gaze—he looked completely unashamed. Again, I knew why they had chosen to stop here, and it would do me no favors to tell Mom the truth, a reasoning she had often employed with me. "So you need their protection," I said. "Because you are a mundane and cannot help. But I am not a mundane. I was born a Shadowhunter like Dad. The Clave knows that. Why couldn't they help you?"

Now Mom stared down at her shoes, as if she was the teenager and I the parent. "They won't help me," she whispered. "You know that I applied to be an Ascendant so I could marry Jonathan. But I told you I was rejected. That…that's not true. I was accepted. I could have been a Shadowhunter. But at the last moment, on the day of the Ascension ceremony, I backed out. I told your father that I didn't want that life and I wanted to remain a mundane. So he sacrificed his future to take away that part of himself." She paused, now glancing up at me. I had gone very cold. "It is my fault he's dead, Abby," she continued beseechingly. "If I had Ascended, I could have fought with him at the Institute and we might both have made it out alive. You would have been under the protection of the Clave. But I made the wrong choice, and it has put you in danger. I'm sorry."

I reached out my arm to steady myself and grabbed hold of Magnus's shirt. Such a thing occurring a second time would, under normal circumstances, have been amusing. "You lied to me," I said in a small voice. "You made me believe that Shadowhunters were evil, that they rejected you because you were a mundane."

"I know," Mom said quietly. "I can never make that up to you. It was selfish of me. But so many Shadowhunters are killed, and I wanted you to be safe. I didn't want you to become involved in the world that took your father's life."

"I think it's too late for that, Mom," I replied, and while she frowned in bemusement, I nodded at a small golden box that was lying on the pillow. "What's that?"

This time Tessa was the one to answer, picking it up in both hands and carrying it over to me. "In the case of his death, Jonathan put several things together with strict instructions to give them to you one day," she said quietly, and glanced down at the box with something like reverence in her eyes. Now I was the bewildered one as I took it from her. It was lighter than I expected, and I was aware of all eyes on me as I carefully lifted the top.

It contained only three items: a rolled-up piece of paper, a ring, and a silver dagger with dried blood still crusted on the blade. I reached for the dagger first, closing my fingers around the hilt, which was decorated with glittering sapphires and rubies.

"It's a Cartwright family heirloom," Mom explained, wiping tears from her eyes. "It's been passed down through the generations and originally belonged to someone named Maxwell, I think. Your father had it on him when he died."

So I _was_ descended from Maxwell, then. I guessed he had used it that night at de Quincey's party when we were fighting the vampires—little had I known then it would someday be mine. I felt an almost heady sense of power as I put it back in the box, the jewels reflecting the light.

I reached for the ring next, and knew instinctively what it was: a pattern of wheels decorated its sides, with a horseshoe in the center. "The Cartwright family ring," I murmured, and slipped it onto the ring finger of my right hand, as I was still wearing Jem's engagement ring on my left. "I suppose Dad had this on him when he died, too?"

Mom nodded. "And the paper is a family tree." I saw her half-glance at Tessa. "You don't have to read it if you don't want to—"

But it was too late; I was already unrolling the scroll. My eyes landed on my own name right away: _Abigail Lucie Cartwright, 1962-._ Above it were my parents' names, _Grace Ann Cooper, 1943-_ and _Jonathan Edmund Cartwright, 1943-1962._

"Edmund…" I whispered, as another memory flashed into my mind. I was a child, following Mom around the house and pestering her with details about Dad. "Mommy, what was his middle name?" I had asked.

Mom had sighed in exasperation, finally pushed to her breaking point. "Edmund," she snapped. "He was named after an ancestor who lost all of his money gambling. There—does that answer your question?"

"No," I had whined, refusing to give up. "What's gambling?"

And then the memory changed to a more recent one—comparatively speaking. I was sitting on the couch in the London Institute's drawing room. "Will's father's name was Edmund," I'd said, without knowing how I knew. "Edmund Herondale."

"No," I whispered, jerking myself back to the present. "It can't be." My fingers traced the dark lines across the page, moving from Jonathan to his parents, Samuel and Abigail. From Grandma I traced up another generation further, to my great-grandparents. _Jesse Blackthorn,_ _1879-1938_ —Tatiana and Rupert's son—and… _Lucie Herondale, 1891-1959._ I didn't need to look at her parents to know who they were.

I lowered the family tree with shaking hands and stared at Tessa open-mouthed. "You're…" I gulped. "You and Will are my great-great-grandparents." The woman whom I was partially named after, the mysterious Lucie, was Will and Tessa's daughter. No wonder Tessa had looked so broken-hearted when she had seen Dad's box. He was her great-grandson.

Tessa nodded, wary now. "It was a shock to us as well," she admitted.

So if Abigail, my grandmother, was named after me, and I was named after _her,_ did that mean I was technically named after myself? I couldn't believe it. Not to mention the fact that I had kissed my great-great-grandfather. Accidentally, but still…

And I'd always known that Dad had ancestors from Wales…like the clues about Brother Zachariah, the clues about my ancestors made so much more sense in hindsight. I folded up the scroll and placed it back in the box, deliberately not meeting Mom's gaze.

"His journal and the picture of us were also in the box, but I decided to give them to you early," she hedged.

"No, Mom," I said. "You gave them to me because you didn't want me to see the ring or the dagger." I gave her a withering look, and all of my resentment, anger, and despair finally came spilling over. I knew that she didn't deserve the brunt of my bitterness, that she had just been trying to protect me, but I couldn't hold back my emotions any longer. "And that's why we're going to the Los Angeles Institute," I finished. "Because you think it will, in your words, _protect me."_ I made finger quotes in the air as I spoke the last part, injecting as much sarcasm as I could into my voice. "Well, if going to the Institute didn't help Dad, I doubt it'll help me, either." And without looking at either Tessa or Magnus, I turned on my heel and left the room, stepping out into the rain and getting myself completely soaked in the process. But I was too worked up at the moment to care—I would just draw an _iratze_ on myself if I caught a cold. I would have to be careful drawing runes from now on in case Mom noticed.

"Abby, get back here." It was Magnus's voice, spoken without inflection or reproach, but there was a silent command in his voice that even I couldn't ignore. Feeling like a sulking child, I reluctantly stuck my head back into the room as I wrung out my drenched hair. He was standing over Mom, who was now lying spread-eagled on the bed, her eyes closed.

"What did you do to her?" I demanded, daughterly concern momentarily overriding my annoyance at her.

"Don't worry," Magnus assured me, holding out a hand to stop my intervention and rolling his eyes. "She'll be asleep for the next hour or so. We can't have her anywhere near the Greater Demon. Speaking of which…" he rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch, "…It should begin its pursuit of you in exactly three minutes. If you wish to get your past self back into 1878, I suggest we take action now."

I nodded, hoping I looked braver than I felt. "All right, then. Let's go." Since I didn't have my seraph blade, I grabbed Maxwell's dagger from the box and wrapped my fingers around the jewel-encrusted hilt—not that it would be much use against a Greater Demon, but it was my only weapon for now.

Glancing across the room, I saw that Tessa was holding a seraph blade, and I could sense the crackle of magic in the room as Magnus harnessed his energy. "Are we going to try to kill it?" I asked.

Tessa shook her head. "It would be unwise for us to attempt to do so. Only a team of trained adult Shadowhunters would be trusted. Once we arrive at the Los Angeles Institute, we will contact the Clave."

Still, we were about to face a Greater Demon head-on; I was certain I had the right to feel at least a little bit of fear. I had defeated this demon myself before, but not without help and a lot of luck. And this time it would be infinitely more powerful.

* * *

The storm was fading into the distance, the humidity still hanging heavy on the air when we emerged outside. I was shaking with fear and adrenaline, my knees weak, but I tried my hardest not to betray my emotions to either Magnus or Tessa. I had faced this demon twice before, but now I was more terrified than I'd ever been.

A loud screech from the road snapped us to attention. Heart in my throat, I crept along behind the two warlocks, brandishing the dagger in my right hand. _We're not planning to kill it,_ I told myself firmly. _All Magnus needs to do is create the Portal, and once my other self goes back in time, we'll get to the LA Institute and everything will be fine._

But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.

"The things I do for the Nephilim," Magnus muttered to himself as we peered around the corner of a car. Mercifully, the road was deserted; but some distance away I could see the hulking, massive form of the Greater Demon as it smashed the pavement into pieces of rubble. I squinted as I caught sight of a blonde figure sprinting madly away from it, tearing across the desert.

I winced, grabbing onto Tessa's arm as I watched the demon shake itself off before running after my past self, remembering the dread and hopelessness I had felt. "The Portal, Magnus," I gulped as I watched myself trip and fall to the ground painfully. "Do it now!"

For once, Magnus didn't snap back a retort. He went very still, his fingers curling backwards, and then he snapped his fingers, the sound echoing in the quiet air.

A hundred feet away, I saw the shimmering blue light of the Portal, and my other self slowly got to her feet, looking back and forth between it and the Greater Demon dizzily.

And then I knew what I was supposed to do.

Taking no heed of the warning called after me by Tessa, I darted forward, cupping my hands around my mouth. _"Run, Abby, run!"_ I shouted as loud as I could.

The demon's head snapped back towards me, and I could almost sense its dozen eyes narrowing, wondering which of its prey was the correct one. My intervention had given my past self a precious few seconds of time: I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched myself begin to run headlong towards the Portal. The Greater Demon snarled and leaped at us, momentarily forgetting who its real target was.

Tessa gave a small cry, and even Magnus looked startled, but I shook my head. "It's fine," I said quietly. "Watch."

And just as the other Abby jumped through the Portal, the eerie light swallowing both her and itself up and leaving only the faintest trace of a shimmer in the air, the demon spun around again, and howled so loudly, unmistakably a scream of rage, that sent shivers down my spine as it echoed around the desert.

And then it disappeared. Just like that. Magnus quickly set up a protective ward around us, but as the seconds ticked by, the desert was perfectly still again. The Greater Demon had vanished.

"Is that supposed to happen?" I asked shakily, pulling myself to my feet with a great effort.

"No," Magnus said quietly, his cat eyes glowing with a peculiar light. "It's not."

* * *

The sun sparkled on the surface of the Pacific Ocean, brilliant flashes of light reflecting on the water, so bright that it was almost painful to look at.

I stood on the balcony outside my temporary bedroom, staring blankly down at the white beach and the ocean beyond. The Los Angeles Institute was built on a sheer cliff, with a clear view of the water on one side and the city on the other. Whereas the London Institute had been like a very old castle, dark and grand, the LA Institute was bright and airy, sun pouring in through every window and seeping through the cracks under the doors.

We had been here for a week, and I had spent most of the time in my room staring out at the ocean, or in the training-room throwing Maxwell's dagger at the targets until my arm ached—a technique that had proven to be a great stress reliever. It wasn't that I didn't want company—I genuinely wanted to get to know my grandmother, who seemed like a fascinating person, and the veritable army of Blackthorns who also resided in the Institute (my extended family, as well as Tessa's other set of descendants: I could tell she was happy to be with them)—but on the other hand, I needed time to properly process what had happened to me, as well as adjusting to my own time again.

When we'd first arrived, Grandma had insisted on telling me her life story, determined not to miss out on any detail. "Samuel and I moved to America shortly after the beginning of the Second World War," she had explained to me. "It was a few years after Grandpa died." I winced, knowing she was talking about Will, her grandfather. "We wanted to live somewhere that was bright and sunny, and California seemed like the perfect place. The rest of the Blackthorns followed soon after, of course." She pretended to be exasperated, but I could see a dry smile tugging at her lips. "We lived in bliss for several wonderful years before Jon was born. A real devil, he was…"

But I was the only one listening to her reminiscing. Mom was clearly uncomfortable at the Institute, and often went into the city of long periods of time. Magnus had disappeared again, a development that surprised no one. The Clave, according to Grandma, was arguing over what should be done about the Greater Demon. It wasn't a question of if it would return to hunt me—it was a question of when. Both Mom and Grandma had forbidden me to leave the Institute, and normally I would have been irritated, but over the past several days my grief had been turned into a paralyzing numbness, as if I'd had a finite well of emotions and they had all been spent. If the Greater Demon attacked the Institute tomorrow, I thought, and killed me, I knew I wouldn't even try to put up a fight. And yet…part of me was aware that my apathy was simply a coping mechanism, and I needed something to snap me out of it.

I sighed and turned away from the breathtaking view, absent-mindedly twisting Jem's mother's pendant around in my fingers. Mom hadn't appeared to notice the Carstairs ring on my finger, nor the jade necklace around my neck—or perhaps that was because we hadn't spent much time together since my return. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to feel about the fact that she had lied to me, made me believe that the Shadow World was nothing but fear and evil and death. I _knew_ it was all of those things—I had experienced all of them myself in a very short expanse of time—but there had also been exhilaration. Excitement. Kindness. Love. The Clave, my mother had told me, was cold and impersonal, but what mundane government wasn't? Shadowhunters lived and loved in much the same way as mundanes did—in fact, I was given to believe that their bonds were actually _stronger._ Yes, I supposed there was that little problem with their— _our_ —job description, but I likened it to a soldier being at war. Perhaps, I thought, my mother had no idea what she was missing out on, and mourned her lost chance of becoming one of the Nephilim. Maybe she was even secretly jealous of me. I knew it was presumptuous of me to assume such a thing, but I felt the conclusion was perfectly logical, given the evidence.

God, when had I turned so philosophical? Not only was I sounding like I ought to be back in the nineteenth century, I was beginning to think like it, too. I dragged my hand across my forehead and strode towards the door, half-mad. It had been Dad's old bedroom, and although I appreciated Grandma's sentiment, I often felt haunted by it, as if his ghost was still present.

At the London Institute, I had been able to wander the corridors for hours without ever seeing another soul. Although the LA Institute was roughly the same size, it was difficult to avoid anyone here. I had barely rounded the corner when I narrowly avoided a collision with Arthur Blackthorn, who was my second cousin as well as being the closest to me in age. He was apparently returning from the library, as evidenced by the enormous encyclopedia of Greek and Roman mythology in his arms. Evidently startled to see me, he nearly dropped his book. I quickly reached out to catch it, my reflexes kicking in for once.

"Sorry, Abby," he apologized with all the conviction of a young teenager. I smiled at him—he was out of breath and his brown hair was sticking up in all directions, his blue-green eyes wide. Out of all the Blackthorns, I liked Arthur the most, with his easygoing and cheerful manner. Both his appearance and his personality reminded me of the Tanner brothers, Thomas and Cyril.

"Don't worry about it," I told him. "The book would have broken my fall, anyway."

He laughed sheepishly, his cheeks turning slightly red, before scurrying off down the hall. I watched him disappear, slightly confused—why did he look so guilty? Perhaps it was frowned upon by the Clave to read mythology, though I couldn't imagine why.

"I was beginning to worry you'd gotten lost in that bedroom of yours," a wry voice said from behind me. I took a moment to plaster a smile on my face before I turned around to face my grandmother, who was watching me like a hawk. I wondered if she had heard my conversation with Arthur.

"I needed some air," I muttered. It was true—I was beginning to feel claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in on me.

Grandma strode towards me and examined my face closely with an intensity so powerful that I felt almost uneasy. "What are you planning?" she asked, her sea-blue eyes narrowed. "You have that look in your eyes—Jon had it too, whenever he was about to break the rules."

I blinked in surprise. "Nothing," I told her. "I was just…going to go up to the roof for a bit."

"I see," she said, and I felt even more uncomfortable—how much, exactly, could she see? At any rate, I took it as a dismissal, and I hurried up the stairs to the rooftop, thankfully not running into anyone else.

The view from the top of the Institute, was, I supposed, beautiful, the omnipresent haze over Los Angeles visible on one side with the hills in the distance, and beyond that, Hollywood, while the seemingly never-ending expanse of ocean stretched out on the other. There were several tables and chairs scattered across the rooftop, each offering prime spots for relaxing and enjoying the atmosphere. But I hardly noticed any of it; the novelty of such things had been lost on me.

I sprawled face-down onto one of the lounge chairs, not caring how pathetic I looked. There was nobody up here to witness me, anyway.

"Abby?"

So maybe I wasn't _completely_ alone.

I raised my head and looked up to see Tessa walking toward me, a sad smile on her face. I didn't want her pity, but forced myself to sit up and pretend to be cheerful. She perched next to me on the chair, lifting her hand as if she wanted to put it on my shoulder, but seemed to think better of it and slowly lowered it. "The Clave agrees that the safest option for you is to go to Idris," she said softly.

"Since when has the Clave ever agreed on anything?" I asked sullenly. I didn't want to go to Idris; in fact, I didn't even want to be at the Los Angeles Institute. I wanted to go back to San Francisco, sleep in my own bed again, and try to grasp at some semblance of a normal life.

Tessa's lips twitched. "Well, it was not a unanimous decision," she admitted. "But the matter remains that if the Greater Demon resurfaces, you are to be sent to Idris immediately. There is another branch of the Cartwrights residing there, and they have offered to let you seek shelter in the family manor."

"Great," I muttered, rolling over onto my back and feeling the hot sun burn into my skin. "Wake me up when you spot the demon."

 _"Abby,"_ Tessa replied, her tone surprisingly sharp. I opened one eye; she was so unusually cross, but now she looked as stern as I had ever seen her, and perhaps a bit exasperated. "You are not the only one who has suffered."

I felt myself blush under her reprimanding stare; maybe she was right. I was acting like a spoiled, sulking child, ungrateful to the people who were trying to protect me. "I know," I said after a long silence. "I'm sorry, Tess."

Her expression softened, but the troubled look in her grey eyes remained. Though she was nearly identical in physical appearance to the Tessa I had known, and was polite as ever, there were many subtle differences in her personality. She carried an air of quiet strength that showed she had suffered many times, not just one great loss but several, weathered as the current beat, unrending, against the sand far below us. She was always careful never to betray the depths of her emotions, and I knew that was from experience, a deep and never-ending sorrow waged by time that I could not possibly understand unless I had lived as long as she had. No matter how close we had been before, Tessa's mental age was now much higher than mine, and we could never be on the same wavelength again. This fact, although unspoken, was yet another realization of sadness to me. Tessa was here, but it was not the same. In a way, she was as distant from me as Jem was.

 _Jem…_ we were no longer on the same wavelength, either, a development that had nothing to do with his transformation into Brother Zachariah. We were separated not only by his change, but by years. How childish he must think me now.

Tessa had explained to me everything that had happened after I'd left 1878, from her imprisonment by Mortmain and the horrors he had forced her to witness; the battle in the depths of a Welsh mountain as the Shadowhunters had come to save her; hers and Will's discovery that Jem was not dead after all, but a Silent Brother; the mystery of her clockwork angel finally solved; her Change into Ithuriel; and finally the aftermath of the battle, after she had destroyed Mortmain for good. Her voice had trembled as she spoke of the truth she had learned about what she was: her father was a high-ranking Eidolon Demon, hence the reason for her shape-shifting powers, and her mother had been a changeling, the unmarked Shadowhunter Adele Starkweather, raised as Elizabeth Moore and who later became Elizabeth Gray. Aloysius Starkweather had immediately noticed the resemblance.

She had told me of Will's proposal to her on a cold winter's night, and their spring wedding at Ravenscar Manor so the Herondales could attend. And she spoke of the birth of their two children, James and Lucie. I had winced when she had told me that their son's name was James, but the pain was almost therapeutic, a beautiful ache. She had lived so many more years than I had, or ever would. Her stories ranged from the joyful (although Henry had become paralyzed in the battle at Cadair Idris and had to use a wheelchair for the rest of his life, he'd been a very respected inventor and gone on to have four children with Charlotte) to the tragic (Sophie had outlived not only Gideon, but their three children as well). I'd gasped and covered my mouth, horrified, at all the appropriate parts, and had laughed when she'd recounted one of Will's antics, or something her children had said. But she did not speak of his death, aside from saying that she'd left England shortly afterwards and lived in Paris with Magnus until the war. In truth, she did not mention what she had done during the two and a half decades between Will's death and my birth. I didn't press her for anything; I knew Tessa was a very private person, and she would tell me if she thought it was important. She loved Jem too, I reminded myself firmly. She was concerned about his well-being, just as I was. If she wanted me to know anything about him, she would say so.

"I can't believe the Clave even admits that I need protection," I remarked. "You'd think that they wouldn't even acknowledge my presence."

"You are a Shadowhunter," Tessa said matter-of-factly. "As long as that is the case, they are not concerned who your family is." She paused. "But that was not the reason I came up here. I wished to give something to you." While I frowned at her, puzzled, she reached into her handbag and pulled out an old, battered book.

"Will bought _The Great Gatsby_ as soon as it was published," Tessa said dryly.

Despite myself, I laughed in surprised amusement, astonished he had remembered our conversation in the library so long ago. "What did he say?"

She smiled hesitantly, pleased to see me cheering up. "He said it was a perfectly horrid book, and he could not imagine why you would enjoy it so much."

"Of course he would," I said, delighted.

"He told me that he wanted you to have it." Surprised, I took the novel and flipped it open. There was an inscription on the first page, written in Will's elegant hand:

_Abby,_

_I could not think of anyone better to own this than you. I hope that someday you shall read it and despise it just as much as I do. I have given Tessa strict instructions to tie you to a chair and force you to read it if you do not do so willingly._

_On a more serious note, as this writing is my only means of communication to you, I would like to add something that I have always meant to say but never got the chance: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You cannot see how Jem changed when you were around, just as I could not see how I changed when Tessa arrived at the Institute. You are his green light, Abby, a phrase you will understand if you read the book. I am entrusting you and Tessa to take care of my_ parabatai _when I no longer can._

_It is a first edition as well, so I hardly need to remind you to take good care of it, although I know you will not heed my warning. Pass it down to your children when the time comes; I would like to keep it in the family. An heirloom, if you will._

_With amusement,_

_Your great-great-grandfather,_

_William Herondale_

"Thank you," I said quietly, hugging the book to my chest. Somehow, it gave me the courage to ask the question that had been at the back of my mind for days. "Tessa, I…I just wanted to know…is there any way to—to stop being a Silent Brother? Is the transformation reversible?"

I could already see the answer in her eyes. My heart sank. "No," she said. "Please do not think that we have not tried, Abby. Will spent the rest of his life searching for a cure—something that can burn the _yin fen_ out of his blood—but it has so far proved impossible. And the Brotherhood does not let their kind go so easily."

I looked away from her, back out over the water. The sun was beginning to set over the horizon, and for a moment the water burned scarlet. Brother Zachariah's voice echoed in my head for the hundredth time: _I shall not be far away, Abby_. I stood up abruptly and began to walk back toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Tessa inquired, looking bewildered.

I turned back to her, Will's book still tucked under my arm. I could almost _hear_ him rolling his eyes from the afterlife. "The Silent City."

* * *

To my knowledge, I had only been in the Silent City twice—once when I was with Jem, and the other, presumably, had been when I was an infant to have the protection rituals placed on me. But I knew that the Silent City did not change through the ages; a dank chill still enveloped the stone walls as the staircase spiraled deeper and deeper into the ground, and I wrapped my arms around myself to keep from shivering. Jem had spent the past century here, I thought, hours upon hours with nothing but the other Silent Brothers and the dead to keep him company. That thought chilled me more than the temperature did.

I knew, technically, that it was not common practice for a Shadowhunter to walk into the Silent City uninvited, especially not for a "new" one like me, but I had to speak to Brother Zachariah. I had to ask him about a cure. Even if the search proved ultimately fruitless, like Will's had been, at least I would know that I had done all I could to try and save Jem. I caught myself twisting the Carstairs ring on my finger several times before I managed to stop myself.

I was vaguely wondering how far I could get before one of the Brothers noticed and attempted to stop me. God, it was too _quiet_ here, the silence pressing on my ears. I slowly reached out one arm and brushed my fingers along the cold wall, remembering that the Silent City was built out of the bones of Shadowhunters. In some small way, even now, Will and Jem were together. I wondered if Jem visited Will's grave often, but couldn't dwell on that question for too long or the lump in my throat would grow even larger.

To my surprise, it wasn't a Silent Brother I saw first, but a young boy, around twelve or thirteen. I guessed he must have gotten his first Marks recently, as the runes were bright and fresh on his skin. He looked absolutely terrified, blue eyes wide and round. He kept running a hand through his blond hair, and I could have sworn his fingers were shaking.

"Hello," I said cautiously. The boy whirled around, sweating profusely. His face relaxed slightly when he saw I wasn't a Silent Brother. "My name is Abby Cartwright."

"I know who you are," he said. "I'm Stephen Herondale. Did the Silent Brothers summon you here, too?"

I held back my start of surprise. So he was Marcus and Imogen's son, then, the one who was living in Idris, and my…third cousin? I was fast becoming confused with all the convoluted family relations. "No," I answered carefully. "They didn't."

"Well, they should have," Stephen replied, and I got the impression he was trying to act flippant to hide his fear. "You're the one who is being hunted by that Greater Demon, right?"

I nodded, a horrible suspicion beginning to blossom in my chest.

"I was back home at the London Institute visiting Mum and Dad when…" His breath caught. "I saw it. A demon. It had a dozen eyes and was as big as a house…" Stephen began to shake again. "We tried to fight it, but it was too strong. It vanished and we have no idea where it went."

 _Oh, no._ Why was the demon going after the Herondales now? Did it think I was hiding at the London Institute? Now it was my fault that everyone was in danger. "I'll talk to the Silent Brothers," I said, as firmly as I could, and walked past him into the chamber where the Mortal Sword was kept. The Brothers were expecting Stephen, but not me.

 _Why have you come to us, son of Marcus and daughter of Jonathan?_ I imagined that Brother Enoch's voice was reprimanding, although I supposed it was difficult for the Silent Brothers to convey any sort of emotion. At any rate, he gave no sign that he remembered me from over a century before, although I knew he had to. I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the Speaking Stars, unable to look up at the line of parchment-robed figures standing in front of us. It was impossible to tell whether Zachariah was among the group, and a part of me found myself relieved at this thought.

"We need your help," Stephen said, his voice shaking slightly. I felt a pang of sympathy for him—he had barely gotten his first Marks, and he was at the Silent City with a girl he didn't know, speaking to the most feared beings in the Shadow World. "The London Institute has just been attacked by a Greater Demon, and Abby believes it is the same demon that attacked her last week."

A murmur ran through the Brothers. _Is this true, Abigail Cartwright?_ Enoch asked.

I nodded, unable to muster up the words to speak.

Enoch was silent for a long time, then— _Will you allow us to look into your mind? If this is true, we shall be able to determine which demon it is and what actions should be taken._

 _No,_ a different voice echoed, and my heart immediately began to pound at its familiarity. I looked up in spite of myself as Zachariah drifted to the front of the group. His hood was still up, so I wasn't sure if he was looking at me or not. _She would not lie about this. Her word should be trusted._

"I'll do it," I said loudly, startling even myself. Stephen relaxed beside me, looking grateful. Zachariah did not react in any way, and this time it was Enoch who stepped forward.

 _The Council greets you,_ he told me, and I immediately regretted my decision—how much could the Silent Brothers see? Would they be able to learn the depths of my feelings for Jem? My heart began to pound crazily as I felt a slight tugging at the edges of my mind. And then I could feel them pushing at the edges of my memories, trying to get in.

 _What's done is done,_ I thought, idly wondering if they were able to read my present thoughts, and finally let go.

A swarm of memories suddenly surged to the forefront of my brain; colours and shapes swirled dizzyingly around me. All of a sudden I was no longer standing in the Silent City but in the motel room where this entire infernal mess had started, staring at the spider on the wall. Then everything dissolved and I was pressed against the door, watching the demon's legs uncurl themselves from under the bed. And I was sprinting across the desert, the breath being forced out of my lungs in quick, anxious pants, as the Greater Demon pursued me. It dissolved a fourth time to reveal Stephen, pale and large-eyed, describing the demon and my mind was instantly cast back to that night...

An ache suddenly sprang up in my head, so strong and sudden that I dimly felt myself fall to my knees, my hands digging into the ground and my eyes squeezed shut. _Stop,_ ordered Zachariah, and within an instant the foreign presence had left my mind, and I was myself again.

"Abby," Stephen breathed. He was hovering over me, unsure what to do. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I gasped, pulling myself to my feet. My headache had disappeared, but the light throbbing still remained.

 _It is the same demon,_ Enoch was saying to the other Brothers. _Judging by its behavior, it is indeed after Abigail. I recognize it as the Greater Demon who attacked the Los Angeles Institute sixteen years ago and killed Jonathan Cartwright. It must be trying to follow her as well._

"But why did it attack the Los Angeles Institute in the first place?" I argued lamely. "Surely it must have had a grudge against one of the residents."

 _As of now, the causes are unknown,_ Brother Enoch told me. _You must be brought to a safe place, perhaps Idris, and be guarded at all times. The remaining Shadowhunters will devise a plan._

 _I will be her guard,_ said Brother Zachariah, and I couldn't hide my astonishment as he walked toward me. _Come, Abby. It is time to let your family know. Stephen, you ought to return to London as well. Brother Enoch will show you out._

Stephen shot me a sympathetic glance as he began to follow Brother Enoch in the opposite direction. Zachariah's head was turned toward me, and I could just see the outline of his face against his hood. Again keeping my head down, I walked after him out of the Silent City, sensing the rest of the Brothers watching me leave.

My previous idea to ask Jem about a cure had completely vanished now; I knew that this was far from the right time to ask him about anything. I walked after him without breathing a word as he led me up the staircase and out to the entrance. I knew that the Silent City had many different entrances, and the Brothers could travel wherever in the world they wanted when they were needed.

Zachariah stopped at the door, one hand reaching out to open it. He surveyed me for a long time, and I had the sense that he was deliberating something. I stared up at him, trying to see beneath his hood, but the attempt was futile.

 _Where are you going, Abby?_ Jem finally asked.

"San Francisco," I said firmly. "I'm going home."


	34. Thirty-Four

**I** was on the Golden Gate Bridge when Tessa found me, cars whizzing by on all sides and rattling the steel under our feet. I had been leaning against the railing, half-hoping that someone would find me, but also wishing I that could escape from the Shadow World, even if it was for only an hour.

"Let me guess," I said without turning around. "Jem wasn't supposed to bring me here."

"No." Tessa's arms were crossed, and now I could see something of the mother in her. But she didn't appear angry, or even exasperated.

I couldn't help but smile in spite of myself, turning my face away so she couldn't see it. "Then how did you know where I was?"

"Jem told me," Tessa replied, and now there was definite amusement in her voice.

My grin disappeared. "Of course he did."

Tessa stepped forward so that I was forced to look at her. The wind was sharp, and her hair was beginning to curl in the humidity. "Grace, Abigail, and Magnus have returned to your house here. They wish to discuss what the next action should be."

I closed my eyes, but Tessa's face was still burned on the inside of my eyelids. "Do _I_ not get a say in what happens to me?" I asked, the words coming out sharper than I'd intended.

"Abby, they are just trying to protect you." Tessa's voice had turned soft, beseeching.

"Well, what if I don't _want_ to be protected?" I burst out. "What if I just want to handle this on my own?" Both of us knew I wasn't just talking about the Greater Demon attack anymore.

Tessa did not speak for a long time, and I finally opened my eyes again to see her staring at me, her own eyes hardening slightly. "You have every right to self-pity, but you are not the only one who has lost everything, Abby," she said, her tone flat.

I stopped in the middle of my retort, realizing with no small amount of embarrassment that she was right. I had lost Jem, certainly, and was in grave danger on top of that; however, Tessa had not only lost the love of her life, but her children and friends as well. I would die one day, and perhaps see everyone _I_ had loved again, whereas Tessa would never have that luxury. There would never be a reprieve from the pain for her.

"Tess," I said softly, reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. It was only then that I fully realized the burden of immortality: she had to keep going on. Eternal life sounded like a blessing at first thought, but in reality it was a curse. Not only did she have to bravely watch everyone she ever cared for die, she would have to face most everything alone. As the world grew and changed, she would have to adapt to it as well. Perhaps that would be enough to stave off the crushing boredom, but would there ever come a point, after thousands and thousands of years, where one would just grow bored of life? And even if you did make other immortal friends, wouldn't you eventually grow weary of them? I couldn't imagine ever growing weary of Jem, but then again I had never lived a thousand years, so I was in no position to answer that question. "Someday I will be dead, just like Will, and then it will only be you and Jem left. If there is ever a cure found…" I trailed off, hoping she would get my meaning.

She had, but she was furiously shaking her head. "No, Abby. I cannot do that. Perhaps in another life, without you and Will, things between Jem and I could have gone another way, but that is impossible now. I still belong to Will, and Jem still belongs to you."

I threw up my hands, letting out a sigh that came out more like a growl. "Oh, who am I kidding? I should just let the Greater Demon come for me. It's not as if anyone is going to miss me, anyway."

Tessa, to my astonishment, looked angry. She was so mild-mannered that her annoyance took me aback, and she said with surprising fierceness, "You cannot do that to Jem. You have not seen him throughout the years, Abby. You are his main reason to continue existing now that Will is gone. He often speaks of you, and I do not believe a meeting has gone by where you were not the topic of conversation at some point. I will not allow it. His ties to humanity are so few and far between now. I fear that if you are gone, he will be forever lost."

"So?" I muttered once my surprise had abated, kicking a rock down to the water below, where it barely made a tiny splash against the vast expanse of the ocean—an excellent metaphor for life. Will would be proud. "I'm going to die someday anyway. He told me that he is going to live for thousands of years, so he'd better get used to life without me again. Besides, Shadowhunters are known to die early, in case you haven't realized."

"Abby!" Tessa exclaimed. "That is all the more reason to stay with him _now_. You are being selfish. Just because he is not the Jem you once knew does not mean that he is a completely different man. The clouds may be covering the stars, but that does not mean they are not there. You need to accept the fact that the boy you fell in love with is not the same, even if a cure is found. He sacrificed himself for you—for _us_. What would Will say if he knew that you wanted to deliberately hurt Jem?"

"He would send a lightning bolt out of the sky to strike me, I'm sure," I muttered. "Anyway, I won't be able to marry and have children if I know he is still existing somewhere in this world. It's like my mother said to me once, Tess, it was either my father or no one for her. I'm sure it's the same way for me too."

Some of the spark had left her eyes, and she reached out as if wanting to put a hand on my shoulder before drawing it back when I flinched away. "There are other good, kind boys out there," she told me. "They do not have to be Shadowhunters."

"Tessa, I appreciate you trying to help me, but it's not," I said starkly. "How would you like it if I told you that it's about time you found someone after Will? I mean, it's been forty years since his death. You can't stay alone for eternity."

A real flash of pain crossed her face, and it was seeing the wounds that I'd purposefully inflicted on someone else's face that I realized how much my ordeal in the past had changed me. I'd become tougher, stronger, more sarcastic and much less naïve. _Worldly,_ I thought with no small measure of bitterness. "Fine, I'll go to Idris, but don't expect me to be happy there."

"Abby—" Tessa began, but it was too late; I'd already turned around and was walking back down the bridge and up the hill, feeling the wind whipping at my face. The sky across the bay was growing dark, and I idly wondered if Will _had_ heard our conversation and was now sending a not-so-pleasant sign my way.

Something moved in the forest next to me, a dark shape weaving in and out between the line of trees. Anyone could be forgiven for dismissing it as their imagination—but if the past year had taught me anything, it was that things were rarely my imagination anymore.

Our recent disagreement forgotten, I whirled around and motioned furiously for Tessa, who had begun to follow me, to leave. "Go!" I called back to her. "I need some time to think by myself. I'll catch up with you soon." And before she could argue, I pulled out my seraph blade and ran headlong into the forest. It looked like a simple Shax demon—an intimidating appearance, but simple enough to handle if I kept my distance.

The shape had already disappeared by the time I'd stepped onto the path, but I could sense that it was still around somewhere. I slowly began to turn around, holding out my blade—

And something wet and slimy jumped directly onto my back, knocking me to the ground. _Watch your back, Abby,_ I dimly heard Jem's voice echoing in my head, and mentally cursed as I rolled over with the Shax demon firmly clinging my shoulders, and drove the blade into the creature's side.

It let out a high-pitched screech but rolled off of me, its numerous eyes all turned on me. _"Foolish little girl,"_ it muttered to itself. _"You cannot run from Greater Demons forever. You will always be found_ —"

My heart skipped a beat, and my brief rush of bravado was already beginning to wear off. "The Greater Demon?" I breathed. "It sent you?"

The Shax demon took my confusion as an the opportunity to attack, and my still-new fighting instincts weren't quite honed enough: it launched itself at my arm and I let out a cry as its claws ripped straight through my shirt and dug into my flesh, leaving several long trails of blood. This time I let out a kick and it hollered as the heel of my boot landed square in one of its eyes. Ichor began to pour from it, staining the ground, and to my horror I could see several more previously hidden Shax demons beginning to descend from the trees like monstrous spiders.

There was no way I could kill all of them on my own—not as untrained as I was and with only one fighting arm. So I did what most Shadowhunters would rather die than even attempt to do—I turned and fled, hearing their pincers clack maliciously from behind me as they swarmed over their fallen comrade. With any luck they would eventually all end up murdering each other, which happened more often than not. There were no mundanes around for them to feast on, anyway.

On my way out of the forest I nearly ran right into Tessa, who had apparently been following me. "Abby, you're bleeding," she exclaimed, and I remembered that my arm was dripping blood.

"I know," I said through clenched teeth, quickly bunching up my sleeve so it wouldn't get all over the ground and leave a perfect trail for any _other_ demons that happened to be following me. "There's an army of Shax demons in the forest. The Greater Demon sent them."

Tessa gasped. "Then the Clave was right. You're not safe here. You need to get to Idris."

"Unless I get killed on the way there," I muttered. Tessa pursed her lips, frowning, but didn't answer.

* * *

It was somewhat surprising that we didn't run into any more demons on the way back home, although I kept my uninjured hand on my seraph blade the entire time. By the time Tessa and I walked through the front door, the blood was beginning to soak through my shirt and the pain was getting more difficult to ignore. I was ashamed that I had run away from those demons, although I knew it would be a suicide mission if I were to have stayed and fought. There were times even a Shadowhunter was overpowered—but a part of me knew that underneath all the new boldness, I was still just as much of a coward as I had always been, but perhaps in a different way.

Unfortunately, I had to walk past the kitchen on my way upstairs, and of course Mom had decided to hold an impromptu meeting there. I saw her sitting at the head of the table with lines of worry carved into her expression, staring down at a piece of paper. Sitting next to her was Grandma, her blue eyes every bit as piercing as Will's had been, and I could see Magnus leaning against the counter sipping a cup of coffee. The rich aroma was strong, enveloping the entire room, but I couldn't take any comfort in it. Standing at the other end of the room, seeming more like a guard than anything else, was a hooded Silent Brother, his hands folded and staring down at the ground. I didn't need to see his face to know it was Brother Zachariah.

"Abby," Mom began, looking up from the paper and fixing me with a hard stare, "We were just thinking of—my God, what happened to your arm?"

Her screech was so loud that Magnus swore and spilled hot coffee all over his arm; Grandma stood up in concern, and even Zachariah lifted his head, although he did not lower his hood. Squirming under their stares, I muttered, "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

"Abigail, you are definitely _not_ fine," Grandma said steadfastly, walking around the table to raise my sleeve. I couldn't hide my wince, and she nearly shoved me into a chair, pulling out her stele and beginning to draw runes on my arm. Tessa was standing in the doorway, biting her lip and watching us with concern, and I sensed rather than saw Zachariah silently ghost over to stand behind my chair.

 _The wound appears to have been inflicted by a Shax demon,_ he said, and I detected a note of worry in his mental voice.

"What were you doing fighting a demon?" Mom demanded, narrowing her eyes at me. "The Clave has ordered that you stay away from them—"

"Which is rather hard to do when you're a Shadowhunter," I said through gritted teeth as I felt a stinging pain begin to cover the scratches; whatever rune Grandma had drawn on it appeared to be doing its job. "There was a group of them in the forest that attacked me."

"But why would they be following her?" Grandma asked, sharing a long glance with Tessa. I could sense that she was about to explain herself if I wasn't going to, and in order to gain favor back in my mother's eyes I quickly answered, "They said that the Greater Demon had sent them to track me down."

There was an audible change in the atmosphere: Grandma gasped, Mom's hands flew to her mouth, and even Magnus's normally cheerful demeanor turned somber. I was suddenly grateful that Zachariah was standing behind me so I wouldn't have to see his reaction.

Unsurprisingly, Grandma was the first to recover. "Then that's the final straw. You are going to Idris as soon as possible, young lady, and I would advise you to pack sooner rather than later."

My despair must have been visible on my face—I had just come back to San Francisco and now I had to leave it again! "But surely there's a way…" I began pitifully. "Magnus can draw wards around the house."

"I can try," he agreed.

 _It is too uncertain,_ Zachariah replied. _A Greater Demon can still break through the strongest wards_. _The safest place for you is Idris._

I sighed, slumping down in my chair and clutching my bandaged arm. "Fine, then," I said dully. "But packing might take me a while, since I'll probably never see this house again." I abruptly stood up and walked out of the room, keeping my head down so they wouldn't see my tears. As I passed Tessa, I heard her begin to follow me, but I whispered, "Please don't, Tess," and she stood back, watching me as I went up the stairs and to my room.

But once I stepped inside, I didn't go straight over to my suitcase—instead, I slumped onto my bed and pulled my legs up, wrapping my arms around them and leaning back against the wall. I must look exactly like a sulking teenage girl told that she wasn't allowed to go to a party or go on a date with a boy. Everything was so much worse with Brother Zachariah here—he was probably relieved that we'd never gotten married. Ironically, I was at my worst here, surrounded by people and places I had known for my entire life. Even my _room_ looked like a little girl's, with its pale lavender wallpaper and posters of puppies and kittens. This was my life before I had become a Shadowhunter, and it was as foreign to me as 1878 had been to me when I'd first arrived there.

I had asked Tessa not to follow me, but I had been really speaking of Mom and Grandma; some small part of me _did_ honestly want her to come up here and comfort me, but I knew that she wouldn't. Instead I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on my knees, hoping that by some miracle the Clave would find and kill the Greater Demon. By the time it was able to resurface on Earth again, I would be long dead.

 _Abby,_ I heard Brother Zachariah say, and I reluctantly lifted my head up to see him standing in front of me, his hood thrown back and his face exposed. I wanted to reach out for him, but didn't dare to—my heart ached even more when I saw him like this, looking so like the Jem I had known and not a faceless Silent Brother. _What is upsetting you?_

I gave a humorless laugh; it was best that he grew sick of me now so that I wouldn't have to bear looking at him, so changed and yet still the same, for the rest of my life. "Everything. I'm still trying to adjust to this life as well as being a Shadowhunter, I'm being hunted by a Greater Demon, and I'm still hopelessly in love with my fiancé although I know he's gone forever."

Brother Zachariah sighed inside my mind. _I have already told you that I am not gone, Abby. I am still your Jem. But it is impossible for me—and Tessa—not to have changed in all the time that has passed._

I hated the way he was speaking to me so patronizingly—like he was a wise old man and his youth was some half-forgotten dream. "That's my point. You're Jem, but you're not. It's like we had a relationship and now we're back to being _just friends_. Or at least you just think of me as a distant friend. I understand that it has been an unimaginable amount of time for you and I have faded to just a memory, but it has been just days for me." I pointed to my scar still left over from the automaton attack, the one that he had nearly been killed trying to protect me from. "I have not had time to adjust."

 _And so you will change, in time._ Zachariah stepped toward me and put a slim hand on my wrist, closing his long fingers over it. _You have never faded in my memories. Rather, you have grown stronger, just as Will has in the decades since our parting. I am the one who must fade in your memories. The past is not a healthy place for mortals to dwell._

"But I don't want to forget you," I whispered. "I don't even think I can."

 _You will have to,_ he said, and for the first time I caught a crack in his voice, something that sounded very much like despair. I looked up at him, puzzled, but he unexpectedly let go of my wrist and turned away from me. "Brother Zachariah?" I asked after a pause. He didn't respond except to pull up his hood again and glide toward the door. _You must prepare to leave now,_ he told me, and his momentary show of weakness, however fleeting, was gone. He was a remote Silent Brother again, as far away from me as a stranger was.

He had disappeared before I could even react, and I sat on the bed, stunned, for another moment before suddenly scrambling up and running after him, not even knowing myself what I was doing but that I had to follow him.

"Jem!" I called as I sprinted toward him; he had nearly reached the staircase again. Downstairs, the kitchen door was ajar and I could hear low, murmuring whispers drifting through it. But I wasn't paying attention to what they were saying about me—that could wait until later.

Zachariah— _Jem_ —stopped just as he was about to descend the stairs, turning back to me. I wasn't prepared for his stop, and I barrelled right into him, sure that I would have knocked him over if he had been a normal person. His arms reached out to break my momentum, and his hood fell back.

Seized by a violent, impulsive desire to get as close to him as possible, I reached up and gently brushed the dark scar just under his eye that was the mark of the Brotherhood. It was as if I had been trapped underwater for a long time and his touch was the only thing saving me from drowning. "Jem," I whispered softly; I didn't care that his skin was now rough and scarred, or that his once thin and bony shoulders now felt like stone against my hands. After our brief kiss in the London Institute after I had returned to my time, I had thought that I would never get the chance to touch him again.

Jem was motionless at first, as if he had been just as stunned by my boldness as I was, but to my utter astonishment, he seemed to be forgetting himself too: his head bent forward slightly, and his hands were on my waist again, as if he was preparing to push me away but couldn't bring himself to do it. I suspected we couldn't go much farther than this—I wouldn't have been surprised if there was some sort of rune or binding spell that prevented Silent Brothers from any form of sexual contact; but this, just touching his face, was enough for now, especially since I knew I was now living on borrowed time and I would be severely punished for it later.

But, by the Angel, it felt so _good,_ having Jem's body pressed up against mine again. I knew my breathing was coming loud and fast, but I didn't care—I was too caught up in the frenzy of cupping his face, my fingers stroking along his cheeks and to his blind eyes, while his hands were spread across my waist and back, drawing me closer to him.

We were both so utterly lost to the world that it was a shock when the kitchen door creaked open from below; I had nearly forgotten there were others in the house. Jem immediately froze and went still, and suddenly realizing that we were in a most compromising position, I stepped back, mortified. "I'm sorry," I whispered, unable to meet his gaze. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Abby!" I heard my mother call from the bottom of the stairs, and, oblivious to my extreme discomfort, beckoned me down. At least she didn't appear to have noticed anything. "Are you ready? Magnus is about to create a Portal that will send you and Tessa to Idris."

I looked helplessly over at Jem, remembering the time when we had been able to tell exactly what the other was thinking with less than a second of eye contact; but he was facing away from me, his hood pulled back up, a gesture which I interpreted as a sign of aloofness. My heart sank, and I swallowed the lump in my throat as I turned back to Mom and asked, "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm to stay here with Abigail and Magnus," she replied, her smile coming out a bit too forced. "I'm not in any danger, but the Clave wishes to take every precaution they can. Tessa volunteered to accompany you; I'm told that she owns a house in Alicante. You're going to the Cartwright manor to be taught the basics of being a Shadowhunter. Irina Cartwright has agreed to let you stay there temporarily."

"All right," I answered slowly, unsure if I was able to say anything else. I didn't want to leave my mother, but it seemed as if I had no choice. I knew that she would be safe with Magnus, and it would be better for all concerned if she was safely out of the path of danger.

Zachariah glided silently past us and down the stairs, pausing only to tell me, _Your mother will be safe, Abby. Do not worry about her,_ before disappearing through the kitchen door. I stared after him, distraught, and only jerked out of it when Mom asked, frowning, "Where are your things? I thought you were going to your room to pack."

"I, uh, er, yeah, I was," I said lamely before retreating back into my bedroom. This time I really did grab my suitcase, stuffing clothes into it haphazardly. At least now that I was alone, I could safely think about what had just happened between Zach— _Jem_ and I. I could still feel the feather-light touch of his fingers on my jaw—the gesture that had somehow been even more intimate than a kiss. There was no telling how often I would be able to see him once I was in Alicante—but then again, I shouldn't even be _thinking_ about that. There was no way that we would be able to stay together unless a cure was found. I did not come back to 1978 to have a one-sided romance with a Silent Brother. Still…my head was spinning frantically, wondering if maybe Jem cared for me more than Brother Zachariah could let on.

And then I thought of Jem—the Jem _I_ had known, not the detached, stoic Brother Zachariah, and the way he had endured so much loss in his life and still managed to be the kind, understanding, gentle boy I had fallen in love with. He wouldn't be acting like a spoiled child if he was sent to Idris. He would bear the pain quietly, unwearyingly, as he always had. I was determined to do the same.

I stood up, closing the lid of my suitcase with a sharp snap and surveying my room. I knew I would miss the chance to sleep in my own bed for the first time in six months, but I had to comfort myself with the thought that I wouldn't be in Alicante for very long—the Greater Demon would surely be slayed eventually, and I would be able to go back home and live with my mother again.

That was the only train of thought I could afford to have.

* * *

My first sight of Idris was nothing spectacular; Tessa and I found ourselves standing in the middle of a grassy field, trees waving gently in the breeze. The sky was a pale blue, with no clouds in sight, and although it was a peaceful scene I had been expecting something a bit less anticlimactic.

"Are you sure Magnus didn't just send us to the park?" I asked dubiously, shielding my eyes from the sun's glare. "I wouldn't put it past him."

Tessa smiled. "Neither would I, but this is definitely Idris. Look." She raised her hand and pointed at something in the distance that I couldn't quite see. I squinted, staring past the treetops and struggling to follow her gaze. It took me several steps forward before I could see it—a pair of shining glass towers, reaching upward into the sky. The sun reflected off the glass so brightly that I had to glance away quickly or I knew I would become blinded.

"The demon towers," I breathed. I had read about them in the _Codex,_ but they were even more majestic in person. Alicante was the City of Glass, everyone said, but I'd never given much thought to the words, believing that I would never be able to see the towers in person.

I turned back to Tessa, about to voice my thoughts, but she was already walking away in the opposite direction, beckoning me to follow her. Frowning, I cast one glance back at the demon towers before running after her. "Where are we going?" I asked, pleased that I was able to catch up to her quickly and was barely out of breath. My months of training were beginning to pay off after all.

"The Cartwright manor is just outside of the city," Tessa explained, loosening her scarf and pushing her hair back. "It is likely that Irina will take you on a tour if you ask her."

"Oh," I said sadly. "So you won't be staying with me?" It sounded almost pathetic, and I immediately bit my lip.

Tessa shook her head. "I am sorry, Abby, but, as your mother said, I do own a small cottage not far from here. Besides…" She bit her lip and quickly looked down, as if she had revealed too much.

"What is it?" I asked curiously.

"Many Shadowhunters are still adverse to having a Downworlder in their midst," Tessa explained hesitantly, fiddling with the edges of her sweater. This sort of evasion was unusual for her, and I felt a jolt of anger at the as-of-yet-unknown Irina. "When I first bought a house in Alicante, a small group from the Clave opposed the action, even though I had lived among the Nephilim for many years. That being said, none of them had existed at the time."

"Well, I have inherited Downworlder blood from you," I said fiercely. "If Irina has a problem with that, then she should refuse to let me stay in the Cartwright manor too—"

"Oh, Abby." Tessa stopped and placed both of her hands on my shoulders, her grey eyes looking wiser and more aged than I had ever seen them. "I do appreciate the gesture, but it will do you no good and will only serve to alienate me from the Clave even more. But I shall give you my address and you can visit me when your training is over."

I swallowed hard, unable to bear the thought of anyone but Jem overseeing my training. "I suppose so," I said quietly. "See you later, then, Tess?"

She nodded and smiled, patting my shoulder in a loving gesture like Charlotte had used to do before turning around and walking away, back towards the city. I watched her go, her brown hair blown about by the wind and her scarf tossed loosely around her shoulders, and sighed heavily. Now that the last remnant of my life in 1878 was gone, I felt more alone than I ever had.

* * *

The Cartwright manor was tall and imposing, sleek marble pillars protruding out from the wall and supporting the house's foundation. I counted at least a dozen windows at the front alone, and a stone path wound up from the road to the oak-panelled front door. Although the gardens and, indeed, the manor, weren't as large as Lightwood House had been, it nevertheless gave off the same air—that of a very old, distinguished building.

I raised one hand to the doorknocker, which was shaped in what looked like a lion's head, and made sure the Cartwright ring was prominently displayed on my right hand before knocking. The matriarch, Irina, was my grandfather Samuel's younger sister, my great-aunt—or so I had been told. According to Grandma, she had never married nor had children, and was one of the most prominent and respected members of the Clave.

I had no time to steel myself before the door swung open, and had to settle for the most composed expression I could manage. A tiny dark-haired woman was standing in front of me, wearing a simple black outfit.

My mouth fell open slightly, and it took a few tries before I was able to say, "You—you're Irina Cartwright?" Grandma had said that she was a stern, no-nonsense woman, just as intimidating as the manor itself. I couldn't imagine this frail woman intimidating anyone.

But she was already shaking her head. "No, miss. I am just Madam Cartwright's personal maid."

"Maid?" I echoed, thinking of Sophie with a pang. "I didn't know Shadowhunters still employed servants."

The woman gave me a sideways look as if trying to ascertain whether I was joking or not. "Madam Cartwright wishes to keep the old traditions alive," she said.

"Oh," I mumbled. Trying to be polite, I asked, "What's your name?"

"It does not matter," she replied. "My mistress does not wish to bother with such formalities."

I decided that I didn't like my great-aunt one bit. I hadn't even met her, but I was already beginning to draw parallels with Benedict Lightwood. Meanwhile, the maid was now looking curiously at me. "You do look like Madam Cartwright," she admitted. "What is your name?"

I blinked. "Didn't she tell you?" I asked in confusion, but from the expression on her face it was clear that she hadn't. "My name is Abigail Cartwright, but please call me Abby—everyone does."

"Ah," the woman said, realization dawning upon her face. "You are my mistress's new ward, then. She did mention that you would be arriving today. Please follow me."

So we set off down a dark corridor, the floor lined with a plush red velvet carpet. I could see colorful tapestries painted on the walls, but there wasn't enough light for me to examine them closely. The manor had an air of hushed reverence, as if we were in a church.

"Does anyone else live here?" I ventured after a while, but the maid didn't answer. I began to wonder if Irina Cartwright wasn't just a crazy old lady after all. When I received no reply, I lapsed into silence. We had by now climbed up a spiraling wooden staircase, the steps becoming wider as we went on until the point where I was literally jumping from step to step, and we finally emerged out into a corridor that was completely identical to the one we had just left, down to the tapestries on the walls. I was about to comment on that fact, but decided it was probably wiser to just keep my mouth shut.

The maid finally stopped in front of a door that was slightly ajar. "Here you are, miss," she said, with a slight curtsy. I was unused to this treatment, and had no idea how I was supposed to respond. I must have stood gaping at her for a long moment before I finally caught myself and reached out to put one hand on the doorknob, gently pushing it open all the way. My other hand reached up to touch Jem's pendant, but I did not want to give any weaknesses away to Irina and so reluctantly let it fall.

The first thing I saw was a high-backed chair, facing a large fireplace where orange flames spat and crackled into the smoky air. Bookshelves lined the walls, their spines thick with dust as if they hadn't been touched in years, or even at all. Dark, heavy curtains were pulled over what I guessed were picture windows. The air was stifling, and I turned back around to look for the maid, but she had already disappeared.

"My name is Abigail Cartwright," I began to the room at large after a pause, unsure exactly whom I was speaking to. "I have come to seek refuge at the manor—"

"Of course I know who you are," a female voice snapped, emanating from the depths of the chair. "Who else would it be? Come over here so I can see you."

Now I was sure I did not like Irina. But even so, I stepped around the chair and stood in front of the fire.

Irina Cartwright was younger than I had imagined, perhaps in her late forties or early fifties. She was wearing a shawl draped around her thin shoulders even in the hot room, and her face was flushed, a pair of brown eyes staring suspiciously up at me. I couldn't see any runes on her skin, and there was an empty bottle of gin on the adjacent table. "Humph," she said after she'd examined me from head to toe. "At least you look like a Cartwright. I would have been disappointed if you'd taken after your mundane mother."

I bristled, but let the comment slide. "It is very generous of you to let me stay here," I said, my voice coming out harder than usual.

"I cannot allow one of the last remaining Cartwrights to be in danger," Irina replied, albeit grudgingly. "Owing to your situation, I have arranged an intensive training program for you beginning tomorrow. You are to be immersed in the Shadow World, as I've been informed you are woefully ignorant of the Nephilim, and reclaim your true heritage. Not only will you be taught to defend yourself, you will be instructed to read the _Shadowhunter's Codex_ and will be tested on it at the end of your session. Breakfast and dinner are served at six A.M. and P.M. sharp. Lunch shall be at the discretion of your instructor. You are to stay in your bedroom at all times unless you are being trained, and you shall have one hour of free time each day to do as you please, provided you are in your room, of course."

"Only an hour?" I asked, dismayed. "But I was rather hoping that I would get to see Alicante—"

"You may see Alicante when you are finished training," Irina said dispassionately. She closed her eyes, as if exhausted by my mere presence. "It will not go anywhere, I assure you."

"But—"

"Where is the dagger?" she suddenly demanded, her eyes flying open again.

I frowned. "Pardon?"

" _The_ dagger," she snapped, apparently becoming more annoyed by the minute. "My grandfather Maxwell's weapon. Abigail Blackthorn told me that it was in your possession now."

"Oh, er, yeah," I said, mentally scolding myself for sounding so ridiculous. I reached into my jacket and drew out the dagger, almost hesitant to hand it over. Irina snatched it from me and surveyed it hungrily.

"I always coveted it," she murmured, almost to herself. "But Samuel was the oldest, so it became his. I received a brooch from my mother. Can you believe it? Jewelry!" Irina snorted—I decided it was best not to comment, not even to agree with her. _"I_ would have taken good care of it. But instead it was given to my brother and then to his idiot son. I was ashamed to call Jonathan my nephew. Running off with a mundane and then getting himself killed before the age of nineteen. But I suppose stupidity runs in that family…"

I couldn't hold back any longer. "What are you talking about?"

There was a sly look in Irina's eyes as she glanced up at me—she knew exactly what she was doing. "His mother's side, of course. The Blackthorns have always been bumbling nuisances—there are too many of them for their own good. The Herondales are no better. Lucie Herondale was never the sharpest seraph blade in the drawer, and her father, William, was an arrogant fool who married a Downworlder. The warlock is still alive—I imagine you've already met her."

"Tessa," I said, very quietly. I was shaking with anger. "Her name is Tessa Gray. And she is just as human as you or I—"

"Oh, please," Irina snorted, waving her hand dismissively. "I see she has you under her spell already. I shouldn't be surprised, considering that you are descended from her as well. You are not a true Shadowhunter if there is demon blood in your family."

I'd had enough. I opened my mouth, fully prepared to tell her to shut up, but Irina wasn't finished. "Your loyalty is misplaced," she continued. "Do not ally with Downworlders. They will turn on you just as they turn on all Shadowhunters in the end. Take her to her room," she said in a louder voice—I saw that the maid had returned. Without saying anything or looking back at Irina, I followed the maid out of the room.

I didn't think I had ever been so angry in my life. I felt betrayed—Grandma had known exactly what Irina was like, so why had she willingly thrown me into a pit of lions?

I barely noticed where we were going until the maid stopped in front of yet another door, obediently holding it open for me. "Thank you," I said stiffly.

"I shall return when it is time for supper, miss," the maid informed me, silently slipping out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her.

I waited until my fury had cooled somewhat before I was able to properly survey the bedroom. It was admittedly large, a four-poster bed not dissimilar to the ones at the London Institute standing in the middle of the room, with a dust-covered floral bedspread. An oak wardrobe stood in the corner by the window, which was dirty and small. A writing-desk was pushed over by the wall, and a water-jug was the only thing placed on it.

It took me a moment before I realized that in my overwhelming rage, I'd forgotten to retrieve my dagger. I turned around and reached for the doorknob, unwilling to wait for dinner, but it refused to open. The maid must have locked it when she'd left. I wondered if Irina had a habit of locking guests in their rooms, or if I was a special peculiarity.

I suddenly felt trapped, as if I had been thrown into a cell instead of a bedroom. No matter how much I shoved or kicked the door, it stayed shut, likely enforced with some sort of rune. I finally felt hopelessness engulf me, and I sank down onto the dusty bed, pressing my palms over my eyes while they filled with tears of frustration. I already knew I was going to have nightmares tonight.

I had no way of escaping my bedroom, let alone the manor, and thus could not communicate with Tessa, Brother Zachariah, my mother, or my grandmother. I didn't know how long Irina was planning to have me trained, or if she was even going to let me out after I had finished my studies.

But even so, there had to be some way I could escape from the manor.

I knew I had to.


	35. Thirty-Five

**I** stared at my pale reflection in the mirror as I had done every morning for the past week, pinching my cheeks to bring some color into them. My face was gaunt, my eyes dull and lifeless. I knew I looked more horrible than I ever had before, but I was far beyond the point of caring about my appearance anymore. I was dressed in the standard Shadowhunter training gear—that, at least, was familiar—and my hair was pulled back into one long braid that Irina's maid had offered to help me with. Unfortunately, she had none of Sophie's kindness or gentleness, and my head was already beginning to ache as if the hair had been yanked from my scalp.

The days had passed by as slowly and agonizingly monotonous as I had feared. I was woken up at five-thirty every morning by the maid, and had barely enough time to wash my face and get dressed before she was back again to escort me downstairs. The dining-room contained nothing but a long, mahogany table, where Irina and I were the only ones present. The older woman would generally ask me one or two questions about my training before standing up and leaving the room, while I ate in solitude. I didn't think we had spoken more than fifty words to each other since I'd arrived.

After breakfast, the maid once again led me to the training-room, which was much smaller than the one at the London Institute and much less efficient. It had no windows, and very little in the way of weapons aside from a few different types of seraph blades and a bow and arrow. I spent the morning there, under the watchful eyes of Andrew Lightwood, whom Irina appeared to have hired and who didn't seem to remember me at all from four years before when he had come to San Francisco to explain to me about the Shadow World. Now I was able to look at him with new eyes, and often found myself wondering if he was a descendant of Gideon and Sophie or Gabriel and Cecily. Judging by his blue eyes and dark hair, I assumed it was the latter.

I had been very careful not to betray my aptitude at anything, and had in fact made myself out to be more clumsy and careless than I actually was. It gave me a small spark of satisfaction seeing the frustration in Andrew's eyes every time I missed a target or tripped, but after a while the repetitiveness had begun to grate on me, and now I wished for nothing more than for my "training" to be over every time I stepped into the room.

At noon, I was thankfully discharged from Andrew's lesson and brought back to the dining-room, where I would predictably eat lunch alone before being led to the small, stuffy room upstairs where I had first met Irina, which I'd learned was the library. I had been given the _Codex_ to read back to front before being tested on it, where I had thankfully gotten all of the answers right. Unfortunately, I didn't want to read the _Codex_ yet another time like I had been doing the training exercises over and over, and usually put it down when I wasn't being watched and surreptitiously picked up another book.

Just as Irina had said, at exactly six o'clock I was picked up by her faithful maid and brought for a third time to the dining-room, where the matriarch would be present once again, usually to ask me how my training had gone and what I had learned, before I went back up to my bedroom. I did have one hour of free time before bed, as promised, but there really wasn't much to do when you were locked in your room. I usually just went straight to sleep, hoping that I would be rescued the following day.

But I never was.

"You are to be released from your training early today," Andrew told me as soon as I walked into the training-room. He sounded neither pleased nor displeased about this fact.

I stopped short, blinking slightly in shock. Hope leapt into my chest. "Why?"

"A representative from the Clave is coming to test you on your knowledge of the Shadow World," he said, and my heart sank. "Irina believes that you need at least another week of training."

 _Damn Irina,_ I thought, but kept my mouth shut. I couldn't imagine myself spending another _day_ in the Cartwright manor, let alone another week. I'd promised myself that I would find some way to escape, it was impossible—I was supervised everywhere unless I was alone in my room. And the only escape route there, the window, was sealed with a rune so it would not open, let alone break. I had searched the novels in the library in vain to find some way to undo a sealing rune.

"Now," Andrew continued, striding over to the center of the floor and surveying me with a hard glare, "Since our lesson is going to be cut short, this is going to be quicker than I would have liked, but there is nothing to be done about that." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a seraph blade, unsheathed though still sparkling slightly in the light. "You are to be faced with what is likely your most difficult challenge yet: to disarm me and take control of the blade."

I hadn't done many exercises with Andrew—he generally stood in the corner shouting orders at me—and I was more than willing to practice with him. I tensed, waiting for him to give me a warning, but quicker than I could see, he had grabbed onto one of the ropes that hung from the ceiling and was climbing up it, as agile and graceful as if he was a decade younger.

My eyes narrowed; it wasn't fair. Even though we were both Shadowhunters, I was a sixteen-year-old girl and Andrew had to be in his thirties, at least. It was impossible for me to gain any advantage over him. I assumed that Irina was watching us and just wanted to see me fail. Well, I wasn't going to give that satisfaction to her so easily.

I sprinted across the room and leapt up onto one of the ropes, using my arms to pull myself up to the top. I barely noticed the burn in my muscles, or that the ground was rapidly falling away from under me when the very notion used to terrify me. Andrew had climbed onto one of the ceiling beams, and if I narrowed my eyes I could imagine that I was at the London Institute again, training with Jem.

I swung the rope slightly to give myself more momentum before throwing myself onto one of the beams, risking a fall in the process. But my fingers curled around the beam just in time, and I quickly, though clumsily, hauled myself up onto the wood. Andrew had by now disappeared, and I spun around so fast that my braid smacked the side of my face. There he was—behind me now, and holding a bow and arrow.

Although I knew that he wouldn't really hurt me, I felt a flash of fear all the same, and decided it was best to defend myself now rather than attack. There were only three arrows in his quiver, and if I could just dodge them—

Something went whizzing by inches past my face with a rush of air, and in shock I realized that Andrew had actually aimed for me. What the hell was he playing at?

My dagger was out of my pocket before I could properly process what was happening, and I sent it flying directly at Andrew, rage suddenly fueling everything else. I hadn't meant to strike him—just scare him—but he moved at the last second and almost directly into the blade's path. For one horrifying second I thought it had caught his ear, but then it spun and embedded itself into the wall behind him. I had nicked the very tip of his ear, and saw a trickle of blood running down his throat. I instinctively flinched away, expecting him to shout, but to my shock he looked almost pleased. "That's more like it," I thought I heard him mutter, while one hand reached up to wipe away the blood. "I was beginning to think you were a lost cause."

The dagger was too far away for me to reach now, and I had stupidly not brought any other weapons with me. Twisting my head around to survey the situation, I noticed that Andrew's arrow was feet away from me on the next beam. If I straightened up any more, my head would hit the ceiling, so I slowly relaxed my muscles into a crouch and leaned backward. But I'd overestimated—the arrow was farther away from me than I'd thought, and the beam was polished and slippery. I began to fall backward, and involuntarily gasped, my heart clenching in terror and all the blood rushing to my face.

I was later certain that I would have fallen to the floor and likely been severely injured had it not been for my reflexes, which saved me just in time. As I lost my balance, my arms shot out and grabbed hold of the next beam, flipping me upside down and over, so that I'd done a half-somersault in midair. Dizzy and still sick with panic, I collapsed on the beam for a moment, unable to move. I heard Andrew yell something unintelligible, but I wouldn't have listened to him anyway: all I knew was that my previous training had saved my life. If I had been as untrained as everyone thought I was, I would be dead or at least in a coma right now.

When I was able to move again, it took me another second to remember what I had been trying to do, and reached over to pull the arrow out of the wood, my arms still shaking with leftover adrenaline. Andrew had leapt over another beam and dropped his bow, as if he was moving to help me. He looked astonished; I guessed that he hadn't expected me to catch myself just in time, either.

The seraph blade gleamed in his hand, but I didn't have time to perfect my throw: I tossed the arrow with all my might at him, knowing before I'd even let go that it was completely off the mark. But Andrew, in his surprise, let go of the seraph blade. I saw it clatter to the floor below in a whirl of bright silver and saw the arrow stuck in the wall next to my dagger.

I dropped down from the beam before he could say anything, landing hard on my feet. I tried not to wince as pain shot through my legs, jolting me back to reality. I fell to my knees in front of the seraph blade and snatched it up as he appeared beside me, seeming uncharacteristically shaken.

"What was _that?"_ he nearly snapped, grabbing me by the shoulders and hauling me up. He didn't seem to care that I had done what he wanted—I'd disarmed him and taken the seraph blade.

"What was what?" I asked in confusion, still overwhelmed. Andrew's hand tightened on my shoulder.

"That was something only a highly skilled Shadowhunter would be able to do," he hissed. "How have you gone from being barely competent to nearly experienced in less than a day?"

I had no choice but to lie; I suddenly regretted showing off. "I don't know," I said, turning away from him. "It was—it was instinct—"

 _"Instinct,"_ Andrew snorted, and I thought I saw him roll his eyes. "Abigail, have you been practicing on your own?"

My eyes widened. "No—"

 _I think that will be enough._ A familiar voice rang in both of our minds, and I slumped against the wall with one hand over my heart, exhilarated and exhausted. Brother Zachariah was standing at the entrance to the training-room, and I felt a jolt of embarrassment. Had he seen the entire thing? _She has proven herself, Andrew Lightwood._

His face turned beet red, and he indignantly spluttered, "I was training her! Irina has hired me to—"

 _To endanger her life?_ Zachariah asked, and if I hadn't known any better I would have thought his tone was cold. I was humiliated—why the _hell_ did he have to show up wherever I was? That being said, why couldn't he have checked up on me before I'd been forced to endure a week in the hell that was the Cartwright manor?

"She seemed to be doing quite well on her own," Andrew muttered. His eyes widened as they landed on something behind Zachariah, and he quickly snapped to attention. "Irina," he breathed as she stepped forward, her face impassive. "I did as you asked—"

"Yes, you did," she replied, crossing her arms and staring stonily at him. I glanced back and forth between the two of them in confusion. "But that could have ended very disastrously, don't you think? I do not want to be responsible for the death of my ward."

"Ward?" I asked, but everyone ignored me.

Andrew mumbled something to me that might have been an apology, and followed Irina out of the room. She motioned for me to follow, and with a half-glance at Brother Zachariah I did so, sensing him ghosting behind me as we left the training-room and into one of the many dark, wood-panelled lined corridors.

"You did well today, Abigail," Irina called back to me. "Much better than I expected. I have been monitoring your progress over the past week—it is fortunate that I asked Brother Zachariah to accompany me today; at least we were prepared if you had been injured. Andrew designed that test for you specially, and at least you appear to be a quick learner." She halted in front of the doors to the kitchen. "As I'm sure you are aware by now, you are to go up to the library when you are finished your meal."

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled.

Irina stared suspiciously at me over the tips of her horn-rimmed glasses. "Fine," she said shortly. "I shall have my maid bring up some tea for you later."

"Wait," I called as she turned to leave. "Does this mean I don't have to do the training anymore?" There was raw desperation in my voice now—I didn't care that Andrew was still in earshot.

Irina pursed her lips, and to my horror the first expression of amusement I'd ever seen her give crossed her face. "Finished? Of course not, Abigail," she chided me. "You may have improved, but you still have much to work on."

Panic rose up inside me at the thought of being forced into that schedule for one more day, and I whirled around helplessly to Zachariah, praying that he would object, but I could already tell that he was not about to let me leave, not even if he had been Jem. _I do apologize, Abby,_ he said, and I knew that his words were for me only. _It is not ideal, but it is necessary. Irina Cartwright is a powerful woman, and the Clave needs to be sure that you have been trained. If you are not being physically harmed, there is nothing I can say that will persuade them to let you go early. You should not be here for more than a month at the very most._

I felt betrayed, abandoned; I no longer saw Jem or Brother Zachariah, but some strange mix of the two, and not for the first time, I felt as if I was completely alone. I could no longer rely on him to save me anymore, even if he _did_ insist at popping up at every turn. It was terribly ironic that the main obstacle that now stopped me from trying to save him was Jem himself. I knew, deep in my bones, that something had to change drastically. Whether it was finding a cure for him or never seeing him again once and for all, we couldn't go on like this. And now I found that I could no longer look directly at him.

"Irina," I said, turning my gaze onto her, "Are you sure that there's nothing I can do if I wanted to be finished this... _training_ sooner? Another test or—or getting someone from the Clave to examine me?"

My heart sank; she was shaking her head even before I had finished my sentence. "I'm afraid not, Abigail," my great-aunt said briskly, turning on one heel and evidently finished with the conversation. "I am not here to grant you miraculous wishes. If you want a magic that will save you, I would suggest visiting the Seelie Queen or finding the Mortal Instruments." She laughed under her breath to herself and set off down the corridor with Andrew at her side, both of them smiling together conspiratorially.

I stared after them, my mouth hanging slightly open—her words had kindled a new fire in me, and my mind was now working a mile a minute. What in the name of the Angel had she been talking about? A magic wish that would grant me anything I wanted? Was such a thing even _possible?_ I had no idea what she meant, but somehow I knew that she hadn't been lying. Irina Cartwright, as cold and calculating as she was, was not a liar.

I didn't know much about the Mortal Instruments, aside from the fact that the Mortal Sword had its home in the Silent City. Something told me that, no matter how urgent the matter was, Jem would not go against the Clave to aid me in what would likely turn out to be an idiotic quest—especially since my wish wouldn't be for myself, it would be for _him_ , obviously—and Will had once told me the Mortal Mirror was thought to be Lake Lyn, but I was at a loss as to where the Mortal Cup could be.

Of course Jem wouldn't allow me to try anything, and if Will had been searching for a cure for years, surely he had exhausted the options...or simply didn't succeed. And as for the Seelie Queen... _Shadowhunters do not do magic,_ I heard a phantom voice whisper in my ear, but I ignored it. I didn't care; I would do anything that would bring Jem back. Now that the hope had been awakened, it was impossible to suppress.

But I didn't know enough about either the Mortal Instruments or the Fair Folk to make any rash decisions yet. I had to do research and learn which one would be the best option.

Now I had gone from despondent to joyful; the library was looking like a good choice after all.


	36. Thirty-Six

**T** he moment I was free from Brother Zachariah's gaze, I tore upstairs to the library, locking myself in and rushing over to the section on Nephilim history, running my fingers along the spines and looking for the _Codex._ I'd had it nearly memorized at one point, but that had been the 1878 edition and I'd not paid very close attention to the one that Irina had assigned me to read. At least if she came in now, I wouldn't have to make up an excuse.

My hands were shaking madly as I located the book and pulled it free from the shelf, my mind racing frantically. Irina had unknowingly given me exactly the hope I needed to escape from the Cartwright manor and perhaps ultimately free Jem. _Be careful,_ my mind cautioned me—my subconscious was beginning to sound exactly like him now. _There must be a loophole somewhere. Will and Tessa likely did all they could to help him, and they didn't succeed._

But perhaps they had not been willing to do _anything._ Nephilim were forbidden to use magic, for one thing, and summoning an angel or making offers with the Fair Folk both certainly fell under that category. Unlike me, they'd had reputations to uphold: Will had been the head of the London Institute; surely every move he'd ever made had been constantly scrutinized, and Tessa was sure to have been watched suspiciously as well—the Clave had likely already disapproved of her, and she could have been banished if the word "magic" was even uttered in her presence. Additionally, unlike me, they'd had children to think of. No, Will and Tessa could not have afforded to even _think_ about doing what I was about to do. Unlike them, I had nothing to lose.

My muscles still ached dully from the training that morning as I settled in the armchair, but I forced myself to ignore their protests. I eagerly flipped to the page on the Mortal Instruments, sneezing impatiently at the dust that puffed up. I would have to make the book look well-used if Irina ever decided to examine it.

… _Legend tells us that then Jonathan Shadowhunter cried out in a moment of human weakness, asking Raziel how he could be called if the need became too great for mortals to bear. And Raziel answered him that he had given all he could, the many gifts of Heaven: the Cup, the Sword, the Mirror, the Gray Book, the adamas, the land of Idris. He could give no more. This mission, he said, must be the mission of men. But then he relented, and his sternness briefly faded, and he said, "If you again find yourself in true need—true need—of me, take the Cup, the Sword, the Mirror—these Mortal Instruments—and summon me by the shores of the lake."_

I stared at the words for a long time after I was finished reading, biting my lip in concern. It certainly didn't sound promising or even feasible—it could take months, even years, to locate all of the Instruments, and then, even if I _did_ manage to summon Raziel, there was little to no chance that he would actually grant my wish. He would not care about some love affair between a Shadowhunter and a Silent Brother, even if said Shadowhunter had traveled back in time. And what if I got Jem in trouble? I paused, hesitating, but before I could dwell too much on that possibility I reminded myself that I still had one other option.

The chapter on faeries was rife with warnings and cautionary tales about Shadowhunters and mundanes who had foolishly tried to make deals with the Fair Folk, of whom the Seelie Queen was apparently the leader, but I paid it no heed. I knew that the faeries were very manipulative and cunning—I was sure I would be able to handle the situation with ease; after all, I'd spent six months dealing with Will Herondale, so what could be more difficult than that? The warnings were for mundanes who knew nothing about the Shadow World, not Shadowhunters like me who had an idea of what to expect. I made a mental note to myself not to accept any food or drink from them, and was surprised that I'd made a decision so quickly. I was calmer than I should have been, considering the situation. But I supposed I shouldn't think too much about the fact that I was planning to go to the Seelie Court and ask the faeries for assistance, a species I knew next to nothing about. It seemed as if they would be the more dependable and quicker option. I did not have eternity to search for the Mortal Instruments, and perhaps the faeries would even take pity on me. Again, I scanned the paragraph in the _Codex:_

_They are known for their cunning and their cruel sense of humor, and they delight especially in tricking humans—mundanes and Shadowhunters alike. They frequently seek to bargain with humans, offering someone his heart's desire but failing to mention that that desire comes with a terrible cost._

Although the words sounded intimidating, I knew that there was no cost I wouldn't pay to help Jem. I had to do it. I _must_ do it. If I didn't try this, no matter how much I convinced myself that I did not really need Jem, I would have broken my promise to him. Besides, not only would I be able to escape the manor, I would be able to actively look for a cure for Jem, something I had vowed to myself I would do. Two birds with one stone. Even I died, even if I was killed by the Greater Demon or simply old age, at least I would have kept my promise to myself. If nothing else, Jem deserved that. He would never be forced to watch me marry another man. I wasn't even sure I could stand that myself.

Taking a shaky breath, my decision made, I stood up steadfastly and shoved the book back into its place on the shelf. I wasn't putting my mother or grandmother in danger by going to see the faeries—Mom was far removed from the Shadow World, in sunny California, and besides, Magnus was protecting her. And Grandma could take care of herself; she was the head of the Los Angeles Institute after all. I felt a pang of longing when I thought of them; I wanted to run into Mom's arms for comfort again, as I had done countless times when I was a child. Our reunion had been too short. I just had to hope that I would see her again soon—I'd think of an explanation later. I hated lying to her, even now.

So with them safe, that meant the only person I was putting in danger was myself. I could handle that; I'd been in life-threatening situations far too often during the past months for them to hold much weight anymore. Of course, some small part of me knew I was lying to myself, but I couldn't let my fear overtake me. I couldn't think too much about what I wanted to do. I had to focus on the end, not the means to an end. If it meant bartering with faeries over curing Jem, then I would do it. If it meant crawling on my hands and knees through hell and high water while looking for the Mortal Instruments, I would do it. The fact that Jem was still alive, even as Brother Zachariah, was far more than I deserved. Now it was my turn to act.

* * *

Not thinking about my plan seemed to be the wisest option—though my heart was pounding madly and I knew my face was flushed—so for the remainder of the day, through the afternoon in the library and then dinner, I concentrated on figuring out a way to escape the manor. Irina's maid was with me at all times; there was no way I could hope to disappear right under her nose. So that meant it would have to be when I was alone, and the only time I was alone was when I was in my room. I'd thought I had already exhausted all the options for an escape (namely the window) but when I sat down on the bed, my legs trembling, I realized there was still one thing I hadn't tried. I had thought it impossible to break the sealing rune, but maybe I didn't have to.

Irina was certainly clever, much cleverer than me, and, if my idea worked, my woefully limited intellect would finally come in handy—Grandma had told me, jokingly, that like Dad, my heart was bigger than my head. Sometimes it was shocking how much she reminded me of Will. _Focus!_ I scolded myself. I could marvel over familial resemblances later.

I began to stand up, shaking, but before I could make my way over to the window there was a soft knock on the door. I froze, scrambling wildly for an excuse, before I realized that the only thing that would give me away was my guilty countenance. In an effort to look nonchalant, I leaned against the bedpost and crossed my arms, pretending I'd been staring out the dark window. "Come in," I said, making no effort to hide the exasperation in my voice. What did the maid want now?

But it wasn't Irina's maid that opened the door. In hindsight, I shouldn't have been surprised to see Zachariah, but I gave a little gasp of surprise before my brain caught up with me. I took a step toward him automatically—it was amazing how I gravitated toward him, even now—but faltered when I saw that his hood was down, exposing his face. He bowed his head, and there was something vulnerable about the back of his neck, the way his dark hair fell slightly over his face, that made me think of _Jem_. For a moment, he was no longer a stiff, stoic Silent Brother, but my Jem. I wanted to run to him, to throw my arms around his neck and kiss his closed eyes, to run my fingers over his scarred mouth, but I was frozen in place, gripping the bedpost with all the strength I had.

And for the first time, I didn't want to see him. He couldn't know what I was about to do. But even so…he looked so unlike the way he had earlier today, in front of Irina and Andrew. Something had changed, and I wondered if it was because we were alone. Was he able to let his guard down around me privately? I supposed I should feel gratified if it turned out to be true, but fear and anticipation were clouding out everything else. Jem knew my every thought, my every feeling even better than I did. If I spent any length of time with him now, he would guess my plan, and forbid me from leaving the manor. If he did that, I knew I wouldn't be able to go on.

I couldn't disobey a direct order from him—it would feel like a betrayal. In a cruel twist of irony, the only thing stopping me from trying to save Jem was Jem himself.

 _Abby,_ he said, ghosting over to me so silently I couldn't be sure if his feet were touching the ground or not. I tried to search for some hint of emotion in his mental voice, but there was nothing. He had perfected the flat, emotionless tone of the Brotherhood. I wondered if it had been different—before—when he was still new, but I would never know. In the same way that Jem had always known what I was thinking or feeling, I'd always be able to instinctively sense his moods. Brother Zachariah was a new, almost alien creature, and it terrified me. I never knew where I stood with him, and the fact that I occasionally saw glimpses of the Jem I had known and loved in Zachariah unsettled me. I could never be completely relaxed around him. Not for the first time, I desperately wished I could speak to Will and Tessa about it. They were the only people in the world who knew and loved Jem as much as I did. They would understand.

 _You must gather your things,_ Zachariah said, stopping just in front of me. He folded his hands in front of him, a gesture that I'd grown accustomed to. _Your grandmother is arriving in Alicante tomorrow to take you to a safer location. The wards of Idris have been breached and the Consul has ordered your immediate removal from the manor._

"The wards…have been breached?" I whispered in confusion. "But if Idris isn't safe, then where is? I…I don't understand. You told me just this afternoon that I had to stay here—"

_That was before Irina Cartwright learned the true gravity of the danger you are currently facing. There is no possible way a demon can get past the enchantments, but she still feels it is best if you are residing elsewhere._

It took me a moment before I understood: there was an underlying layer of pity in his voice, but no resentment. "She's sending me away, isn't she?" I asked. Surprisingly, there was no bitterness in my tone. "She doesn't want to risk leading the Greater Demon here, even if Idris is safe." My mouth had gone dry: this was exactly what I had wanted earlier today. I would have been jumping for joy if Zachariah had told me this after my training.

But not now. Not now, after I'd already made a plan—"Where am I going?" I asked, fighting hard to control the trembling in my voice.

 _Your grandmother shall decide that,_ Jem said. Though his eyes were closed, I felt his piercing stare on my face. I prayed he couldn't read the conflict in it. _I volunteered to accompany you._

The room tilted suddenly, and I grasped frantically at the bedpost to stay upright, but Jem reached out at the same time to stop me. His hands were flat against my back, and I felt a tremor go through him, as if he was suppressing some violent emotion. _Abby_ —he said before he abruptly cut himself off as if he'd been about to say something else.

And then everything became clear.

I had been so childish, thinking that if I couldn't have Jem romantically, I couldn't have him at all. But now…

This was enough, just talking to him and feeling his hands on me, even if it wasn't in the way I wished. It was so much better than I had expected. I imagined coming back to a 1978 without Jem, Silent Brother or not, and the thought was so devastating that my mind automatically shied away from it. He was still my Jem, and it had been nothing but shallow of me to think otherwise.

For a moment, I thought about hiding away with him, in some remote, far-flung corner of the world. I would get to hear so much, and I could pretend that things were better—even as I watched myself grow older and Jem stayed an unchanging Silent Brother. And I would still get to be with him, even if it wasn't in the way I wanted.

This time, I pulled away from him first and touched his face, my fingers skimming along the length of his jaw. His own hand moved upwards as if he wanted to take my wrist and then thought better of it. We had done this so many times—acting as if we were Abby and Jem again. It was one thing when it had been our first reunion, but this was the third time that it had happened. But things were not the same. I could pretend that they were, but I was lying to myself.

I swallowed hard, wincing as my voice cracked, and asked, "Will you stay with me?"

 _If you want me to,_ Jem agreed, and I wondered if I heard hesitation in his voice. Even after all this time, he still thought there was a chance that I wouldn't want to see him. I was about to reassure him that I would always want him—and then stopped dead, the words stuck on my lips. I couldn't give in to this impulse that wanted to run into his arms and never let go, even if he pushed me away. As tempting as it was to go along with Grandma's new plan and let myself be whisked away to somewhere I was safely out of danger's path—a Shadowhunter running from a demon, of all things—I would be breaking my promise to Jem. I wouldn't be able to visit the Seelie Queen or search for the Mortal Instruments if he was anywhere near me.

He would surely follow me if he knew what I was trying to do, to stop me. How could I convince him not to? How could I send him away for good, confident in the fact that he would never return?

The answer was staring me right in the face, but I couldn't do it.

I had to do it. I had no other choice.

_There's always another way—_

No, there wasn't. Not this time.

I would have to act quickly before I became a coward. It would kill me. But I had to do it. I had to send him away. It was the only chance I had to save him. I couldn't hide away and stay miserable while abandoning my only chance, slim as it was, at happiness. It didn't matter what Jem would have done if the situation had been reversed. He deserved better than this. _I_ deserved better than this.

I stared fixedly at a spot on the wall behind his head and choked out, "But I don't want you to…to stay with me."

Okay, so the words hadn't come out as confident and assertive as I'd hoped. But I had said them. I had that to be proud of, at least.

There was a short, agonizing beat of silence, and then Jem replied, _There is no danger for me, Abby. The Clave is sure of that._

Oh, God. This was going to be even more difficult than I imagined. There was a massive difference between telling yourself you were going to do something and then actually doing it. He was unsure of my true feelings, but deep down, Jem knew that I still loved him. According to Tessa, that was one of the only things that had kept him going for the past century, and I was about to destroy that.

_For his own good._

_For his, or for mine?_

_Focus, Abby_ , I told myself sharply, working my face into a more composed expression. I wanted to get this over with as quickly and… _painlessly_ as possible. "Jem— _Zachariah,"_ I began, "It isn't…your safety I was talking about. Believe me, I'm grateful that you're trying to help me, but…I don't need it. You don't need to look out for me."

 _It was at your grandmother's request._ Maybe it was just my imagination, but he sounded colder than he had a moment ago.

"This isn't about _my_ safety, either!" I said, hoping I sounded adequately frustrated. "It's about what I want." I might as well just get it over with now. I forced myself to look directly at him as I answered. "I don't want you to follow me around anymore. Things aren't the same as they were before. I do appreciate it, but…I want a chance to build a new life. Of course, I'll always…think fondly about what we shared, but it's not 1878 anymore."

He didn't respond, so I kept going. Better to shatter my heart quickly rather than dragging it out painfully. "I don't want any reminders of my life in the past. I want to start anew. Please understand that I…that I don't love you anymore. At least not in the way I once did." Jem's mother's pendant and the Carstairs ring suddenly burned against my skin, but I didn't take them off. That I was not able to do.

The magnitude of the lie took me aback and left me breathless. I gasped for air, but my words had come out in such a rush that I didn't need to explain that. Now my plan was hinged on the fact that Jem would concentrate on the words themselves rather than the expression on my face.

Half of his own face was in shadow; the other half was unreadable. I knew that he wouldn't put up a fight if he thought that it was what I truly wanted. Slowly, he lifted his hood to hide his face, and I felt yet another thrill of horror go through me. What had I done?

 _You do not wish to see me again?_ Brother Zachariah asked. I could not see his face, and that made it easier—he could have been any Silent Brother then.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, knowing I had to deliver the final blow. It was now or never. "Not like this. Not when I have to pretend you're a stranger."

He was quiet for a long moment. My heart was pounding crazily. _Very well, then._

I felt sick; I dropped my gaze and stared blindly down at my hands, unable to move or speak. If Jem asked me to elaborate, I wouldn't be able to say a word. I had done all I was capable of doing now.

I wasn't sure how long I was sitting on the edge of the bed, numb and feeling utterly desolate, before I realized that I was alone in the room. Jem had disappeared, and with him my heart. I knew instinctively that he wasn't returning. I had accomplished what I had been trying to do—and I felt absolutely wretched. Even reaching up to touch the jade pendant didn't help. I pictured his mother, Ke Wen Yu, small and graceful with delicate features but a "warrior soul", as Jem had once described her with more than a hint of wistfulness in his eyes, staring at me with accusation in her eyes. Her son had sacrificed everything for me, and I had thrown that sacrifice away. I felt even sicker, and considered running after him as I had once done and begging his forgiveness. I would never let the plan cross my mind again—

But even as I thought the words, the rational part of my mind knew it was impossible. I couldn't go back now, and to do so would just be digging my own grave. Maybe, if everything turned out well, if Jem was cured and ceased being a Silent Brother, I could apologize to him and beg him to take me back. But I didn't know if I had wrought irreversible damage. He probably wouldn't take me back; _I_ wouldn't take myself back. But maybe he would understand someday. Maybe he would forgive me, if he wasn't too caught up with finding someone else to fall in love with. Perhaps even Tessa. They had a history, after all, and being with Jem would still tie her to Will…

But the thought of Jem in love with anyone else, even Tessa, was too much for me to bear. I abruptly got to my feet and wrung my hands together in anguish, pacing up and down the length of the room. I'd successfully sent him away, but at what cost? Would he ever be able to speak to me again? Would _I_ ever be able to speak to him again?

It was in the midst of this brooding that I realized I was wasting precious time. There was always the chance that no one would come to check on me until the morning, but there was also a greater chance that Irina had seen my moves before I had and plotted for this very situation. Grandma would be at the manor to pick me up in the morning, and with the threat of a Greater Demon or not, I had to escape. But freedom didn't seem so tempting anymore.

"Damn it, Abby," I said aloud, hitting my forehead with the palm of my hand, "You brought this upon yourself." Now it was up to me to fix everything. Obsessive thinking wouldn't get me anywhere.

Keeping that thought firmly in mind, I grabbed Maxwell's dagger from the bedside table—not that it would do me much good if I came up against a _real_ danger—and hurried back over to the window. It was still tightly locked and sealed, and after I tried an Unlocking rune with no success I was forced to turn to my last resort; my last hope of getting out of the manor.

Jem was long gone, and I was confident that neither Irina nor her maid would be able to hear me. Just in case, however, I drew a Soundless rune on my arm before tying my hair back with an elastic band I'd found stretched across one of the books, and picked up the empty water jug from where it stood by the window and steeled myself. I guessed that I had about five minutes if either one of them heard the noise or saw me sprinting across the grounds; the maid looked untrained and Irina was elderly, so I should be easily able to outrun them both.

And then, finally gritting my teeth and springing into action, I hurled the jug at the window and ducked as the glass shattered, thousands of tiny shards flying in all directions. The crash had been deafening, and even with the rune I knew I had little time to waste.

Pulling a piece of glass out of my ponytail, I straightened up and saw that the impact had left an almost perfectly circular hole in what was left of the window, just large enough for me to crawl through. I would have to be careful not to cut myself on any of the broken shards.

I glanced back at the door one more time before hopping up onto the table, kicking the debris out of the way, and stuck my head out into the cool night air. My room was on the very top floor—likely yet another precaution by Irina—and there was nothing but a rock path directly below me. Even with runes, I had no guarantee that I would land safely. Biting my lip in concern, I pulled myself farther out so that I was half-leaning out of the window. I hadn't bargained on this; I'd thought that the lawn stretched up this far. I could take my chances and jump anyway…but I could have sworn I'd seen a pond in the gardens when I had first arrived here.

After straining my ears for a long moment, I drew back, victorious and giddily relieved at the sound of water lightly lapping against rocks. I couldn't see the pond from here, but I knew it was close—at least, if my memory was to be trusted. My witchlight wouldn't do much good, either—it was meant for lighting up small rooms rather than larger areas. Even so, I held it out in front of me, squinting at its bright light, and searched for a pond in the direction of the splashing noise.

Luckily for me, my hunch had been right—there _was_ a small, decorative pool nearby, but unluckily for me, it wasn't close enough. I might be a Shadowhunter, but I doubted I could jump _that_ far.

I lifted up the witchlight slightly, and my eyes landed on a tiny, crumbling ledge jutting out from the next window. I eagerly glanced down at my own, but there was no such structure there. So Irina _had_ chosen my room well. The question was, if she'd foreseen me doing this, why had she placed a glass jug right next to the window? Surely she would have thought of every option—

And then I heard voices in the corridor outside. They were unfamiliar, gruff—guards? No, the maid had told me that only she and Irina lived in the manor…I froze, balancing on the windowsill, listening.

"It's locked," a man's voice was saying. His accent was Eastern European and very thick. "This is an unfamiliar rune."

"Irina must have thought the girl was liable to escape or else she wouldn't have alerted us," a second voice remarked. "Isn't she supposed to leave tomorrow, anyway?"

My eyes widened as realization finally dawned on me. I'd been right—Irina guessed all along that I would try to escape. I remembered Tessa saying that she was very influential in Alicante: so it wouldn't be just Irina I was on the run from, it was the entire _Clave._

Panic flared up in my chest, and I frantically shoved myself through the window. Things were going very wrong very quickly. While the two Shadowhunters outside my door argued about the best way to open it—I had the sudden, strange thought that perhaps Zachariah had somehow tightly sealed it—I thought back to my training session earlier today, and pretended that I was balanced on the beam, trying to get away from Andrew. I kept my eyes fixed on the ledge in front of me and jumped, a bit of glass embedding itself into the back of my hand as I struggled to grip onto the jagged edges of the window, but I could do little more than gasp in pain as air rushed past me for one long, wild second—and then my fingernails scraped the edge of the ledge. I was swinging precariously a hundred feet above the rocky ground below, and some part of my mind had detached itself from the rest of my brain and seemed to be watching everything as if I was floating above the scene, horrified.

With a groan, I heaved myself up onto the tiny ledge with all my strength, my arms shaking as I crouched down, pressing myself closely against the window so I wouldn't fall off. I was vividly reminded of kneeling on the edge of the folly at Lightwood House, the worm that had once been Benedict lunging and attacking me. I had been balancing precariously then, too, and had launched myself into a pond without knowing how deep it was. But this time neither Jem nor Will could save me from drowning. I was on my own.

I had no idea how much time I had left before the Clave caught up with me—I was taking my chances as it was. I took a deep, shuddering breath, counted to ten in my head, and closed my eyes, angling my body in the direction of the pond before letting go.

The fall was quicker than I'd anticipated; it must have been barely five seconds before my body hit the water. The pond, though deeper than the one at Lightwood House, was still very shallow, and all the breath was knocked out of me as I smashed against the rock bottom. But unlike last time, I had been expecting it, and was able to push myself back up to the surface again, my head breaking the water with a gasp.

I gripped the edge of the pond for several seconds, taking great gulps of air as I tested out my muscles. My back ached from where I had hit the bottom, and my legs were shaking, but nothing too severe. I'd barely managed to pull myself out of the pond and stumble a few steps forward before I heard a yell from the manor and saw a seraph blade whizzing past my face.

That jolted me into action, and I immediately broke into a sprint, my arms shielding my head in case I was met with another seraph blade. The grounds of the manor were dark, but even the pitch-black sky could not completely extinguish the demon towers, which still glistened faintly in the distance, rising above Alicante like ghosts. They were my only guides as I ran through the inky night, down the sloping lawn and away from the Cartwright manor, my heart slamming against my chest as I tried very hard not to think.


	37. Thirty-Seven

**T** he vast expanse of the lawn stretched out before me as I sprinted across the grass, one hand on my seraph blade and the other protecting my head. I had no idea if I was still being pursued or not, and I expected to be thrown to the ground with every passing second.

I was physically and mentally exhausted, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up a steady pace. The demon towers didn't appear to be growing any closer, and I wondered if the laws of physics worked differently in Idris. Judging by the burning in my calves and my wheezing breaths, the laws of biology were working just fine.

When I could take it no longer, I finally collapsed onto the cold ground. My vision was coming and going in bursts of white and red, and I no longer had any semblance of control of my muscles. I rolled over onto my back, the stars spinning and dancing above me. I was lucky that it was past midnight; I would never have been able to flee in the middle of the day.

With my head whirling so crazily, I was unable to think straight—about my escape from the manor, about Grandma coming to fetch me, about what _I_ was planning to do—but most importantly, I was unable to think about what I had done to Jem. It had been a spur-of-the-moment and completely irrational decision, but it had to be done. If I wanted to save him, I had to push him away. He had to know he wasn't responsible for what I was about to do. If he still believed that I loved him, he would blame himself if I got myself hurt or killed.

Then again, he would probably still blame himself either way, but perhaps his guilt would be lessened. The only thing I knew with any measure of certainty now was that I couldn't tell him I loved him and then cling on to him selfishly while he lived a life in the shadows. I had to at least _try_ to save him. Even if my attempt failed—and it most likely would in the end—at least I could sleep easier knowing that I had done all I could. I had done enough sitting back and waiting throughout my life. Now was the time for me to finally act.

Somewhere in the distance, I faintly heard a muffled shout. The voice matched the one of the Clave member in Irina's house, and this time fear propelled me forward. Gritting my teeth and clenching my hand into a fist so that the Carstairs ring pressed into the dirt, I pulled myself up, briefly touching the pendant at my throat as if seeking reassurance. I quickly took inventory of my surroundings before getting to my feet, seeing that I was a little ways off the main road. The demon towers were no longer visible, hidden by a thicket of trees that blocked nearly everything from view. I had no idea which direction I was facing, but there was no time for me to wander around and look for a compass: again, the man's shout echoed across the field, and I stumbled forward, breaking into a slow run—I wasn't able to go any faster. Opting for security over a path, I headed for the trees, knowing that if the Clave didn't catch me, whatever animals lived in the forest certainly would.

A year ago, I wouldn't have left Irina's house, much less fled from the Clave. Then again, I hadn't known Jem a year ago, either. I still had time, the reasonable part of my mind tried to convince myself. I could allow myself to be caught and taken to a safe place, somewhere I wouldn't have to worry about demons or my training or anything supernatural at all. Maybe, eventually, I would be able to sleep in my own bed again without being haunted by nightmares.

But that wasn't a reasonable wish. I couldn't just carry on with my life like the past six months hadn't happened. I would be doing a disservice to both Jem and myself. The decisions I was making were, I realized, my only option.

Dad would be proud of me, I realized with a jolt. The thought put a strange lump in my throat. It was exactly the kind of idiotic, reckless thing he would have done: sacrificing everything for love. And he'd actually done it.

 _But look how well it turned out for him,_ a dark voice in the back of my mind whispered, and I furiously shook my head to clear it. Only I would be contemplating my life choices while I was on the run from the Clave.

Slowing to a walk, I leaned against a tree trunk and reached for my witchlight. I was now deep in the forest, the only shapes the looming shadows of trees all around me. The voice had disappeared, but that was hardly a comfort anymore. I had no idea how large it was, and I could wander around it for hours before finally finding an exit…

 _Calm down, Abby,_ I told myself sternly. _Think logically. The forest cannot be too thick around here, since it is a relatively populated area. Now, in order to see the way out, I have to get up high._

An owl hooted from above me, and I jumped, the witchlight falling out of my hands and landing on the ground. Had it been any other object, I would have been unable to find it—but its soft blue glow was distinguishable even after it had bounced down a shallow ridge and landed in a pile of leaves. Cursing my poor coordination, I bent down to pick it up—

—And came face-to-face with a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my scream as I leapt away from the wolf, searching frantically around for an escape route. A low growl slipped from its throat as it took a step towards me, baring each and every one of its long yellow teeth. Wouldn't it be something if I managed to escape the Clave only to be attacked by an animal?

Hurriedly stowing away the witchlight, I pulled out my seraph blade and placed it between my teeth in case I required use of it before grabbing onto the lowest tree branch I saw and hauling myself up. Wolves couldn't climb trees, could they? Below me, the wolf slowly circled the tree as I wobbled above it, one of my legs dangling down over its mouth.

I didn't even need the Equilibrium rune as I pulled myself up from branch to branch, occasionally using knots in the trunk as footholds. I couldn't see a thing, but I was willing to give up my vision temporarily if it meant I could get away from the wolf. When leaves started scratching at my face and I was spitting out mouthfuls of bark, I forced myself to pretend that I was at the London Institute, climbing the rafters in the training-room with Jem. After all, this wasn't so different, was it? I remembered scuttling along the beams like a monkey, trying to keep up with him. God, I owed Jem so much: yet again, he had saved my life in a way he would never be aware of. Never had I thought that climbing the rafters would come in handy one day.

I knew I was getting close to the top when the branches began to thin out and the twinkling stars were visible again. Crouching down so that less of my weight was putting pressure on the branch, I positioned myself so that I could easily grab another one if I lost my balance, and pushed another cluster of leaves aside to be met with cool, empty air.

I was higher up than I'd expected, and I could see that the path leading to the city was winding and narrow, weaving around sprawling manors and small hills. There were more houses situated along the edges of Alicante than I had thought: each represented a prominent Shadowhunter family. I assumed the Cartwright manor was back in the opposite direction: there was only one mansion flooded with light, which unnervingly happened to be the one closest to me.

I prayed that the Clave hadn't found me yet as I carefully climbed down from the tree, trying to convince myself that the lights were only coincidence. Surely they hadn't put a tracker on me—

The second my feet hit the ground, there was a rustling from the dark forest, and the wolf was suddenly flying at me. I didn't even have time to defend myself before I was thrown to the ground, the great beast's paws upon my shoulders and its teeth… _licking_ me?

I stared up at the wolf, which, I realized, was not a wolf at all, but a husky, pinning me down to the ground and licking my face joyfully. I closed my eyes tightly and screwed up my face, turning my head to the side so it couldn't slobber all over me.

"Felix, _come here_ ," a female voice called, and my eyes shot open as the dog bounded away from me. I rolled over onto my side and wiped the drool off my face before slowly getting to my feet. I was ready to put my hands up in surrender—I had been discovered.

But my heart swelled with relief when a young girl, not the man I had feared, stepped out of the trees. She couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, with bright red hair that glowed like a beacon in the shadowy backdrop, and large green eyes that made me think instinctively of Henry. She held the dog—Felix—back by the collar as his tail wagged madly, eager to greet me again.

"Who are you?" she asked me boldly; there was no fear in her eyes, only suspicion.

I paused before answering, choosing my words carefully. "My name is Abigail Cartwright. I was trying to find my way to the warlock Tessa Gray's cottage when I got lost in the woods. Do you know where she lives?"

"About ten minutes to the north," a different, male, voice stated before the girl could answer, and another person appeared behind her. "Just follow the path and it's the smallest house on your left." He was tall and slim, with the same flaming hair and green eyes; it was obvious they were related. There was a small smile on his face as he said, "It's not often that Felix finds teenagers wandering around the forest past midnight."

"I can imagine," I said; the entire conversation was beginning to turn surreal. "You see, I'm sort of in an…urgent situation, and I need to speak to her."

"Yes, you're the one the Clave is searching for," he said evenly, and I could have sworn I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Don't worry—your secret is safe with us. Tessa has been a family friend for many generations."

They were Fairchilds: they had to be. Their appearance and knowledge of Tessa warranted them no other explanation. At that point I could have hugged both of them.

"Uncle Buford—" the girl began indignantly, but the man shook his head at her. "Hush, Jocelyn," he said. "This girl is of no threat. Felix would not have acted in such a way otherwise."

"You said that Tessa's cottage was to the north of here," I said faintly, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "Um, which way is north?"

Buford pointed to a sliver of light between two trees that I hadn't noticed earlier. "Go straight through there, and once you reach the path, turn right and continue along it. The cottage will be on your left."

I began to stumble towards the light, stopping to give Felix a light pat on the head; Jocelyn regarded me with wide eyes. "Thank you very much," I told Buford; there were so many questions I wanted to ask and not enough time to get answers to any of them. He inclined to his head to me and put a hand on Jocelyn's shoulder; before I could say anything more, they had both melted into the shadows.

I had never been so grateful to step out into open space, but I kept just inside the treeline as I followed it down to the main path, the light from the Fairchild manor spilling out onto the lawn. The low bubbling of a fountain was audible as I finally stepped back onto the path, gravel crunching loudly under my shoes. I still had no idea how far I was from where I'd started, but the path was deserted, and I hoped that it meant I was far enough.

Thankfully, Buford had been correct: barely ten minutes later, I found myself in front of a small wooden cottage shrouded in darkness. It was distinctly farther away from any of the manors, and had this been a mundane country, I would have assumed it had once been a servants' cottage.

As I knocked hesitantly on the door, I couldn't help but think of how ironic it would be it turned out that she wasn't home and I had come all this way for nothing.

But luckily, I was wrong: a candle flickered on dimly behind the curtains and the door opened to reveal a wary-looking Tessa, her hair down and wearing a white dressing-gown. When she saw me, her face morphed into one of surprise. "Abby!" she exclaimed, immediately ushering me inside. "What are you doing here?"

"Irina is sending me away," I explained, leaning against the back of the door; my eyes were beginning to close of their own accord, and it took all I had not to slump to the ground. Tessa's face had blurred into a haze of brown and white. "The Greater Demon breached Idris's wards—the Clave is after me—had to tell Jem—"

Something gently pulled me up by the hand, and I dimly realized that Tessa was supporting me, gently leading me forward into the cottage. Her cool hand brushed my sweaty hair away from my face. "Hush," she told me gently, and for a moment I pretended that she was my mother. "You need to sleep. You can explain everything tomorrow."

"But the Clave—"

"You are safe here, Abby," Tessa said gently but firmly, and this time I didn't argue with her. We'd stopped walking now, and all I could see was the shimmering outline of a bed in front of me—the most beautiful thing I'd seen all day. I was about to turn and thank Tessa, but it was too late: I had already fallen into darkness.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance, birds were chirping merrily and I could hear the sound of softly rustling trees just outside the window. I burrowed deeper into the covers, pretending that it was just a normal morning and I was back home in my own bed. But the fabric of the pillow was too soft, and the birds didn't sound anything like ordinary robins or sparrows.

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes to a bedroom that was so small as to be almost claustrophobic: there was room for little else than a quilt-covered bed, a dresser with several photographs arranged on top, and a towering bookshelf stuffed to the brim with novels that reached almost up to the ceiling.

I felt a prick of guilt for taking over Tessa's bed; I hoped she had somewhere comfortable to sleep. But even worse than that was the guilt I would feel if the Clave went after her, thinking she had information—and they most likely would. She was already looked at with disdain by the majority of Shadowhunter society; they were probably just waiting for an excuse to cast her out.

I yawned hugely and stood up, refusing to think about my situation for the moment, and padded over to the three framed photographs, my heart skipping a beat when I could see them clearly.

The first was of Will and Tessa on their wedding day: the camera, no doubt one of Henry's inventions, showed barely a smudge, though it was still black-and-white. Tessa wore a golden dress that accentuated her slim figure perfectly, and her hair was twisted into a crown of curls on top of her head. She was arm-in-arm with Will, handsome as always in a suit, grinning so widely he looked as if his jaw was about to break. They looked slightly older than they had when I knew them, but not significantly; I assumed the wedding had taken place a year or so after my departure. They stood on the top step of the Institute, happiness evident in every line of their body, and my stomach ached dully as I studied their faces.

The next picture was slightly more focused, and depicted a young boy and girl sitting in the courtyard of the Institute. The boy was older by a fair amount, with absurdly messy dark hair and oddly golden eyes, while the girl was just a toddler, brown hair framing her chubby face and steady blue eyes. "James and Lucie," I whispered to myself, my eyes lingering on my great-grandmother, before moving on to the third picture.

It evoked the strongest emotional reaction from me, and I had to look away for a moment before I recovered myself. I _knew_ this picture, because I had been present for it. It had been a scorching August day, and Henry had dragged every member of the Institute outside to test his newfangled camera. We had stood there for at least half an hour, smiles frozen on our faces, before the shutter had finally clicked.

Henry and Charlotte flanked the group, Charlotte wearing a patient smile and Henry looking like an excitable puppy. Next to Charlotte stood Gideon with his hand on Sophie's shoulder, while a scowling Gabriel and smirking Cecily posed beside them. Bridget and Cyril stood together, dressed in their uniforms. Tessa had her hands clasped in front of her, the clockwork angel gleaming on her neck, while Will stood almost protectively over her, glaring at the camera. Next to them was me, an awkward grin on my face and wearing a dress that had been much too hot for the weather, and Jem— _Jem—_ was holding my hand. He was smiling gently at me rather than looking at the camera, and I remembered his bashful grin when I'd caught him staring at me. I stared at his unmarked face and silver hair for a long time, brushing my fingers over the glass, before putting the frame down and wiping my eyes. I didn't have the strength to look at him for very long.

The cottage was just large enough for a living-room, kitchen, and bedroom, but I got the feeling that Tessa liked it that way. She wouldn't want anything bigger to remind her of all the empty space she now had, and I doubted she had many houseguests here in Alicante. The thought put a strange lump in my throat.

But she was certainly talking to someone _now_ : I could hear the rise and fall of her hushed voice, but no matter how hard I strained my ears, I couldn't decipher a reply. Either she was talking to herself or to someone who couldn't speak.

I had just enough time to step away from the photographs and pretend that I'd just gotten out of bed when the door creaked open and Tessa herself peered around at me. "Good morning, Abby," she said with a smile, albeit strained, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you." I gestured lamely at the bed and my clothes. "I'm sorry about…this."

"It's no trouble at all," Tessa told me. "You are a dear friend as well as family, Abby. I could never turn you away." She stopped before continuing, biting her lip almost worryingly. "Jem is here," she said, dropping her voice. I didn't react; I'd guessed as much. "He explained what happened at the Cartwright manor last night."

This time I did flinch, preparing myself for her accusations. She would be furious at what I had done to him—I wouldn't be surprised if she threw me out of the house. But there was only pity and concern in her eyes as she looked at me. "While I am deeply sorry for the way Irina treated you, I am confident that Abig—your grandmother will find a safe place for you. However, I do not understand why you attempted to escape from the Clave."

My lips parted slightly as I stared at Tessa in shock. Jem hadn't told her about our conversation. A mixture of gratitude and guilt swirled up inside me. "Well, it's a long story," I mumbled, staring down at the floor. "I'll explain it…later. Why did you call Zachariah?"

I could see the confusion in Tessa's eyes at my ambiguous answer and the way in which I referred to him—her younger self would never have been able to contain her curiosity, but as it was, she simply pursed her lips and answered, "He is the only person with any power over the Clave that I can trust, and you were very weak last night. I was not sure if you required medical assistance."

"I don't," I said, but it was too late: I knew Tessa would want to have me examined anyway. I couldn't stay here any longer, much less face Zachariah, and I could already tell that there was no point confiding in her about my plan: she would tell him right away. How could I possibly sneak out of the cottage unnoticed?

And then, while I scuffed my shoes and bided my time, the answer hit me, as if it had been hanging over my head the entire time. I chanced a glance at the door, but I knew that Jem wouldn't be listening to our conversation. I was utterly and completely convinced of that.

"Tessa," I said urgently, "You have to Change into me and convince him that I'm fine."

She looked alarmed at my unexpected request. "Abby, I really don't think—"

"Please." My voice came out half-choked. "Please, Tess."

"I cannot do that," she argued, and I wondered how long it had been since she'd last used her power. "He will know what I have done straight away. I cannot lie to him like that."

I stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, staring directly at her. I was sure my voice sounded half-crazed as I said, "I need to escape. You can tell him everything about this conversation the second I disappear—you have to stall him for thirty seconds. Thirty seconds is all I need."

"Where are you going?" asked Tessa. "Let us help you—"

I shook my head fiercely. "This is something I have to do on my own, Tess. Please trust me."

Tessa regarded me for a long moment, torn between her loyalty to Jem and her desire to help me. I was about to try to make a run for it anyway—and then, ever so slightly, she nodded. "Thirty seconds," she said firmly. "If you're still here, you shall have to explain it to him."

I was already handing her my purse. "Take this," I ordered. Tessa clutched it in her hands and closed her eyes, and I watched in morbid fascination as her features began to ripple and morph as the Change took hold, her brown hair smoothly melting into blond and her height diminishing several inches. Within ten seconds, I was staring at a perfect copy of myself, right down to the birthmark on my shoulder and the crease between my eyebrows.

"Go," Tessa whispered as she returned my purse. My own voice sounded strange to my own ears, and I was all too happy to leave my eerie twin as I turned my back on myself and wrenched open the window, vaulting over the sill and landing on the grass below.

 _Abby,_ I heard Jem say, and I almost answered him before I remembered Tessa. _I am terribly sorry for any wrong that I have caused you—_

"Jem, please do not tell me anything," Tessa said, and I knew that my time was up. I immediately took off across the lawn, and the last thing I heard her say was, "I am not Abby."

* * *

I stared numbly at the back of the faerie walking ahead of me, some dim part of my mind screaming in horror. _What the hell have you done, Abby?_ it demanded. _You walked right into the Seelie Court with almost no prior knowledge of the creatures, and now you're about to speak to their Queen, a being infinitely more powerful than you!_

But it will help save Jem, I told myself, refusing to think about the consequences if it didn't. That was all that mattered.

The faerie, who had introduced himself as Meliorn, turned gracefully back to me, his long hair swishing around his shoulders. Out of nowhere, he had somehow produced a glass of sparkling wine. "May I offer you a drink, miss?" he asked in a voice laced with honey.

I shook my head at once, remembering the warnings I'd seen in the _Codex._ "No, thank you."

Meliorn looked disappointed. "Are you sure?" he pressed. "It cannot be found anywhere but in the Seelie Court. No drink in any realm can compete with this."

Deciding to partly appease him so he would stop pestering me, I took the glass, but unfortunately there was nowhere to discreetly dispose of its contents. Meliorn grinned slyly at me, exposing all of his sharp, pointed teeth, before continuing down the corridor. I followed him warily.

The hallway was dark and narrow, twisting and winding like the path through Alicante, and I had the sensation we were deep underground. By the time Meliorn stopped, I was feeling a bit dizzy. The door was little more than a partition of flowers and thorns, and he stepped back, ushering me in first.

The Seelie Court was smaller than I'd thought, and covered almost entirely in plants—vines fell from the ceiling, and there was an entire wall devoted to nothing but roses. Faeries darted to and fro, carrying trays of unfamiliar food. I recognized Tessa's Hyacinth in the far corner, standing next to a golden throne on which sat the Seelie Queen herself.

She was indescribably gorgeous, with pale skin, thick red hair that fell down her back, and wearing a crown of thorns. There was a bored, haughty expression on her face as she watched her subjects—at least until she saw me, and her eyes narrowed. "Come over here, Shadowhunter," she ordered, and I meekly scurried over, ignoring the faeries that offered me refreshments from their seemingly endless supply. Hyacinth's eyes landed on me, and I saw recognition in them.

"I see that Meliorn has offered you a drink," she said. "It is considered rude not to partake in such an invitation, if my knowledge of the human world remains correct."

I quickly realized that it would do me better to feign ignorance, and so I slowly raised the glass to my lips and tilted it back, stopping just as the liquid touched my skin. I pretended to swallow and smiled at the Queen, who now looked deeply amused. "It is wonderful, isn't it?" she asked. "It would have been such a waste had you not had some. Hyacinth, take the glass from her," she barked, and the blue faerie nodded, springing to life at once. As she took the glass from my hands, she murmured, "It's too late."

I fought to control my expression, but I was dumbfounded and slightly nervous as Hyacinth left. She must have been talking about my decision to venture into the Seelie Court—perhaps she had known my relation to Tessa.

"You are a new Shadowhunter," the Queen mused, crossing her legs and resting one long finger on her chin to take a better look at me; I tried not to squirm under her gaze. "Six months at the most. Am I correct?"

I could do nothing but nod.

She smiled wickedly, pleased. "They all have the same look to them, and they all have only one reason for coming to me. So what is it you desire, child? Power, I presume? Strength? Luck?"

"Love," I corrected, speaking for the first time. "I want you to change a Silent Brother back into their human form."

A murmur ran around the assembled faeries, but I didn't take my eyes off the Queen. She gave a small hiss, and for the first time I saw true interest in her eyes. "So you are Abigail Cartwright," she said after a long silence, regarding me almost hungrily. "There have been whispers concerning you for decades past. You are Brother Zachariah's human lover."

"Was," I managed to say through my dry throat. "Circumstances have changed."

"No," the Queen said with a low chuckle. "Love like that does not die. You shall be his forever, whether or not you find a substitute." She leaned forward. "It is rare that I become embroiled in the affairs of humans, but your case is an exception, and I find myself curious. Was this a mere fancy? An idle flirtation?"

"We were engaged."

"And yet you reaped the benefits of your wedding night early. Yours is not the blush of a virgin." I started, embarrassed, which only made the Queen's smile widen. "Silent Brothers are unable to participate in such acts; therefore, you knew Zachariah before he changed his form permanently."

"Permanently?" I asked; I was beyond humiliated by the entire conversation.

"The Nephilim know of no way to reverse the process, at least. But faeries cannot lie. So I will help you." The Queen's eyes bored into mine as she explained, "But to do so, I will need a drop of your blood. He will come searching for you if he finds it, will he not?"

I knew he would, but I still hesitated, thinking of the _Codex_ 's warnings…The Queen, sensing my reservations, added, "If you want to feel his body against yours in the way that you once did, if you want to look in his eyes and know that a human is looking back at you, if you want to be with him in the way you long for, then you know what your next action should be. The choice is entirely yours. Of course, it is possible he will become human again long after you have left this earth. Who will he spend his life with then? I have seen the way he looks at the brown-haired warlock. She who is immortal will not leave him like you."

It was dark magic. It was everything that I shouldn't do. But my desperation, mixed with frustration at the Queen's goading, was stronger, and I held out my hand. "Do whatever you have to," I said, and now she was positively purring.

"Meliorn!" the Queen called, and snapped her fingers. Suddenly she was no longer sitting on a gold throne, but one carved out of bones, twisted into grotesque shapes. I took a step back, but Meliorn was already there: he jabbed something sharp into my finger and drew out a needle glistening with blood.

"You are naïve, little girl," she jeered; her chuckle had turned into a cackle. "You did not drink the wine, but it still passed through your lips. Faeries cannot lie, and I will help you in the way _I_ wish to."

I had been deceived. Hyacinth had told me that I was too late, because I'd already had the wine. Horror shot through my veins as I whirled around at the sound of a deep snarl echoing through the chamber. The rest of the faeries save for the Queen and Meliorn had vanished, replaced by an enormous, hulking beast with five pairs of red eyes and tentacles slithering towards me.

_The Greater Demon._

My stomach rolled, and my legs gave out from under me. I stumbled backward onto the steps leading up to the throne of bones. The Queen seemed to enjoy my terror as she watched me struggling to stand up. "I was going to tell you that we would summon a demon to cure him, but the idea of false hope that he would rescue you is somehow more poignant, would you not agree?"

I didn't answer her. I had been so idiotic that I hadn't seen the trap laid out in front of me. She was right: I was naïve and foolish, thinking I could barter with faeries. I deserved every bit of what I was about to get.

And then I saw the one thing that could make my blood run colder than it already had: a spindly, poorly-built automaton wearing Victorian clothes staggered into the room, a drop of my blood gleaming where its eye should be. I was frozen in place as two more of them followed in its place, and then two more, and two more after that…

"You are under the Greater Demon's control now, Abigail Cartwright," the Queen declared, watching automaton after automaton march into the court. "But we shall not leave you to its mercy just yet. We have plans for you. The automatons that you and your friends so valiantly fought in London have been reanimated with your blood—you are the only Shadowhunter foolish enough to have come down here begging for a favor. In a way, I suppose, they will be yours."

I tore my gaze away from the demon to stare at her, unable to move. I was no longer in control of my own body.

"You shall be the clockwork queen."


	38. Thirty-Eight

**I** came to with an abrupt jolt, a shudder ripping through my body as my wrists met cold metal. I clenched my fingers into fists and jerked my hands upward, but the manacles refused to give.

A cracked, moldy plaster ceiling was my only view, an empty, windowless room my only companion. It took me longer than it should have to turn my head and realize that there was nothing else in the room besides the cot I was chained to. Cuffs encircled my wrists and ankles, shackling me to the floor. I was no longer wearing my gear; instead someone had dressed me in an unflattering beige corduroy dress that scratched against my skin when I shifted positions. I prayed that it hadn't been Meliorn.

I moved my gaze down to the iron cuff, searching desperately for some sort of weakness in the metal—a keyhole, _anything_ —but they were smooth and perfectly circular, molding around the exact shape of my wrists; it was impossible to see how they had even been forced onto me. My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized that I was completely useless against faerie magic. Then again, I was completely useless _anyway_ , but it extinguished any spark of hope I might otherwise have had. What were they planning to do with me? Starve me? Leave me languishing here until I rotted? Or had they devised some other sort of torture? I had read in the _Codex_ that the faeries had once publicly executed a Shadowhunter for attempting to steal from them. God, I had been so blind and naïve.

So this was my fate, then. My punishment for thinking that the faeries would help me save Jem. I knew there was no use in agonizing over my unbelievable stupidity right now—surely I would have more than enough time to do that later. The Seelie Queen would want to keep me alive, at least for now. I was the clockwork queen.

 _Clockwork queen._ The words ran around my brain in endless circles as I stared blankly up at the ceiling. What did that mean? Was I in control of the automatons? They had been reanimated with my blood, after all…my last memory was a blur; I recalled one of the automatons shoving me to the ground while I cried and struggled, pressing a cloth over my nose and mouth. It had a faintly sweet scent, and inhaling the chloroform was the last thing I remembered.

I turned my head to the side and flexed my fingers, checking to see if there was any possible way I could wriggle my hands free—and froze as I noticed, for the first time, that my left hand was bare.

"No," I gasped, as the horrifying realization sunk in: the Carstairs ring was missing from my hand, as was the Cartwright ring, Jem's mother's pendant, Maxwell's dagger, my seraph blade, and stele. I should have been expecting it. If the faeries had taken my gear, they would surely take the items that were the most precious to me as well. I felt bare; stripped of my identity.

I could feel tears of frustration building up in my eyes as I thrashed around on the cot, but I knew it was no use. The chains were likely designed to hold something much stronger than me, and they would probably prove useless against my seraph blade even if I had it. Faerie magic was an area still largely undocumented by even the _Codex._ The only beings that held any sort of immunity to it were demons…but where on earth could I possibly get demon blood? I was no longer wearing my gear, and I doubted that the faeries kept stores of demon blood lying around—

Except that I _did_ have demon blood.

Tessa's father was an Eidolon demon, from whom—which?—she had inherited her immortality and shape-shifting ability. He—it?—was my ancestor—my great-great-great grandfather, as related to me as Benedict Lightwood was. Despite the distant family ties, I must still have a trace amount of demon blood. That kind of thing wouldn't die out after only five generations, right?

Suddenly feeling a spring of hope, I looked down at my wrists. The handcuffs were uncomfortably tight, and I had struggled against them enough to irritate the skin, but hadn't yet drawn blood. So I fought against the chains once again, this time with newfound vigor. The clash of the metal rattled my eardrums, and I hoped I was isolated enough so that nobody could hear me. I winced as the edge of the cuffs finally tore into my skin, pain shooting through my fingers.

One long, terrifying second passed— _it hadn't worked_ —and then, just as I was ready to cry out in panicked frustration, there was a loud click and my wrists were suddenly free. I could do nothing but stare down at my hands in pure shock—there were bloody scrapes circling my wrists and my skin felt as if it was on fire—but I was free. My heart leapt straight up into my throat, hardly daring to believe that my spur-of-the-moment idea had actually worked.

I sat up dizzily, not waiting for my head to stop spinning before I reached down and shook a drop of blood onto the chains around my ankles. Those immediately snapped open, too, and it was with utter disbelief that I swung my legs over the side of the cot and carefully stood up, checking my balance and taking a few tentative steps forward. Thankfully I was relatively unscathed aside from a few minor injuries, which were nothing an _iratze_ couldn't fix.

When I was certain that I could walk reasonably normally, I made my way over to the door, and when I discovered that it was locked from the inside, I forced myself to take several deep breaths and knelt down to peer through the keyhole. I could see nothing except for the wallpaper on the opposite end of the corridor—so I was off of a hallway, then—which was a putrid shade of yellow. There was just enough room for me to stick my smallest finger through the hole and reach around to the lock on the other side.

An idea suddenly sprang to mind, and I reached around to grab the nearest open handcuff, pulling the chain away from the wall as far as possible. Stretched out to its full length, the chain was exactly long enough for it to reach the door, the handcuff exactly large enough to fit through the keyhole. I paused for the briefest of moments at the coincidence, but I didn't have time to give it much thought—after yanking the edge of the cuff through the keyhole as hard as I could, I felt the lock break, and jumped aside as the door swung open.

I leapt to my feet again and hesitantly peered around the door. My cell opened up into a narrow hallway, plastered with that decaying yellow wallpaper and paired with a matching musty carpet that reminded me of mothballs and dust. The image of a hotel—or an abandoned apartment complex—came to mind as I slowly crept along the hallway. There was no visible way out aside from a door standing ajar at the end of the corridor. I swallowed hard, one hand on my chest as if to slow down my racing heart. This was the moment that I usually turned tail and ran away as fast as I possibly could. But there was nowhere for me to escape to now except the cell. Jem, Tessa, Magnus, Mom, Grandma…they couldn't save me now.

I instinctively reached up to touch my throat where the pendant was usually located, but my fingers only brushed bare skin. A small gulp escaped my lips, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. It would be just like me to ruin everything before I even started.

The entire place was silent. _Too_ silent, like a tomb. Unfortunately, I doubted that I was in the Silent City. I placed a hand against the wall to steady myself as I kept my eyes fixed on the door in front of me. The architecture and paneling were like nothing I'd ever seen in Idris, or even London for that matter. Where was I? Surely the Seelie Queen had me ordered to a place far removed from anyone who could or would possibly help me. I could be in the middle of the ocean, for all I knew. What if trying to escape would prove more dangerous than staying where I was?

My heart kicked off again in terror and my vision began to blur at the edges. _No,_ I told myself firmly, forcing my shaking legs to continue moving forward. _I can't have a panic attack. I can't have a panic attack. Not now—_

"Abby?"

My head snapped up at the soft, achingly familiar voice, cracking like a violin's strings. Standing in front of the door was a pale, ethereal boy, all silver and shadows. My mouth parted open in surprise at the sight of Jem standing in front of me—not Brother Zachariah, but _Jem_.

"Oh, God," I breathed. My legs began trembling madly and I felt dizzy. "What are you doing here?" I gasped. "Jem. _Jem._ How—but you are a Silent Brother!" I stumbled forward, barely able to form coherent words. Jem reached his arms out to me, his silver eyes gentle and kind, and I fell into them, tears already beginning to fall from my eyes.

"Shhh, shhh," he soothed as I sobbed into his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of _yin fen_ tinged with something else, something I couldn't quite place. His arms around me were stronger than I remembered them being. I rested my head against his chest, shudders tearing through me. I couldn't feel his heartbeat.

"How is this possible?" I asked him, gripping the thin material of his shirt and staring up at him, hating my tearstained face. He smiled wanly down at me. " _Jem._ I thought—I thought I would never get to see you like this again." I took a deep breath, willing my shudders to stop while he rubbed my back soothingly.

And then I suddenly remembered where we were, and how much danger I was in. "Jem, we have to leave," I said urgently, reluctantly tearing myself from his arms and beginning to walk toward the door, still clutching his hand. "The faeries abducted me—I don't know what they're planning to do, but I have to leave." He refused to move, still smiling at me.

I paused. "Jem?" I was saying his name far more often than I had to, but I would never get tired of it passing through my lips.

"It's dangerous for you out there, Abby," he said, the smile fading from his face. "It's safer for you back there."

I stared blankly at him, trying to comprehend. "What do you mean? Jem, we have to leave _now._ The faeries—"

"Abby, they knew you would try to escape," Jem said, his tone calming and almost pleasant. "They purposely made it easy for you. They wanted to see what you would do."

I let go of his hand. I could feel my heart pounding against the inside of my chest. My face felt uncomfortably hot. "They…they knew?" I asked in a horribly pitiful voice. "The fact that it was so easy for me to unlock the door…it was a trap?"

Jem nodded. His eyes were glowing peculiarly. Not even when he had been ill with fever had they ever looked so bright. "You must go back to your room," he told me. "I just want you to be safe."

I took another step backward. "I don't see how being stuck in there will make me any safer."

"Abby, please trust me," Jem said, holding his hand out to me, trying to close the space between us. "It's me. It's your James Carstairs."

"No," I said, my head giving the tiniest of shakes. I felt as if I was no longer being governed by my rational mind. Some hidden part of me hissed, _"Eidolon."_

And then Jem's eyes glowed red, and his silvery hair began to fade away. It was an eerie, unearthly sight; I gaped stupidly at him for a long moment before finally realizing where I was, and made a desperate run for the door, slamming and locking it behind me.

My eyes wildly scanned the room for something I could use as a weapon. It appeared to have once been a small office, with a bare mahogany desk in the center and a small window in the corner. There was another door directly opposite me; I began to sprint toward it, but skidded to a halt when I saw my gear piled neatly against the wall, with all my belongings stacked up on top of it.

There came a loud crash from behind me, as if something had just slammed its body against the door, and the wood actually splintered. I froze like a deer in a car's headlights, still torn, but I was too late: the Eidolon demon sprang through the destroyed doorway, back in another form, four-legged and fearsome, like some sort of rabid crocodile. It opened its jaws, exposing a mouthful of long, sharp fangs, and growled at me so loudly that the room shook.

And then it sprang at me.

I dove aside, smashing into the wall; the demon grazed my leg with one of its claws and I felt blood instantly begin to drip down my skin. It reared back and prepared to launch itself at me again, but this time I was ready, and grabbed my seraph blade, shoving it into the demon's flesh as it struck me again. It let out a deafening, almighty howl and I ducked, covering my head as ichor splattered the room, staining the walls and floor. But it wasn't defeated that easily: I scrambled aside as it struck again, this time slamming into the wall. Dust and plaster rained down on me as I scrambled to my feet, brandishing my seraph blade. But the demon was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered if it had been thrown right through the wall.

I bent down to hurriedly gather up my belongings, stupidly taking an extra moment to slip the Carstairs ring back onto my finger, and that was when the Eidolon dealt its final and most deadly blow. I watched in horror as Jem climbed out of the debris. The demon, now mortally wounded, was relying on me not being able to kill it. Even though I knew, obviously, that it wasn't actually Jem, I still wouldn't be able to kill it. I couldn't deliver the final blow. I was too weak.

The Eidolon knew it had me trapped; sweat dripped down my face as I slowly backed away. I couldn't escape out either of the doors, and the window was too small for me to fit through. I could see murky sunlight filtering through the dirt-encrusted glass, as if it was taunting me for not being able to reach it. Meanwhile, the demon was beginning to close in on me again. I wasn't worried that it would kill me—clearly the Seelie Queen wanted me alive for some reason—but any chance for my escape was gone. They had known from the very beginning that I wouldn't be able to kill a demon that was taking the form of Jem. It was torture in the very worst way—it was as if I was tantalizingly close to freedom, only to have it ripped from my very grasp by the person I loved the most.

What would Jem do if he was in my situation? Would he fight a demon that was taking my form? Or would he be deceived by appearances, succumbing to illusions?

 _Jem doesn't exist anymore,_ I told myself fiercely. _He is in the Silent City. He is Brother Zachariah. He will never look like this again. It's a lie._

"Abby," I heard the demon breathe, and I was suddenly struck by a memory of warm skin, of tangled sheets, of kisses and pleasure and love, and I was _angry._

I looked the Eidolon demon squarely in the eyes. "Shut up," I hissed, and leapt at it.

The force of my jump sent both of us crashing to the ground and rolling straight into the desk. The demon—I refused to think of it as Jem—grabbed my fingers and tried to pry them away from my seraph blade. I held on as tightly as I could, pushing the blade as far away as possible. As soon as I felt it graze unnaturally hard flesh, the demon slammed his other fist straight into my windpipe. I immediately rolled away, choking and gasping as I clutched my throat. The demon took advantage of that and grabbed my seraph blade, charging at me so fast I didn't have time to avoid the blow. My back slammed into the opposite wall and all of the air was knocked out of a second time. I flailed uselessly against its grasp, twisting away as I saw the flash of my own seraph blade flying at me. It pierced into the wall inches from my left ear.

I immediately feigned injury, letting myself go limp and waiting for the demon's grip to relax before straightening and kicking upward as hard as I could. Probably not expecting such a dirty trick, the demon doubled over and stumbled away from me. I took the opportunity to grab it by the neck and slam its head into the desk with all my strength, nausea twisting my stomach as I heard the sickening crack jolting me back to my senses. And then I watched Jem fall to the ground, blood seeping through his silver hair from the injuries I'd inflicted upon him.

 _Not Jem!_ I screamed at myself, trying to force the bile back down my throat. The blood was too dark to be human, anyway, and already the demon was beginning to morph back into its true form.

Knowing I had very little time left, I leapt up onto the desk and gathered momentum before jumping directly at the window. My boots smashed into the glass, and I flipped backwards in midair, the room spinning around me once, turning up into down, before I landed safely in a crouch away from the broken shards of glass, breathing hard. That had been one of Will's favorite tricks—I'd meant to show it to Jem…the _real_ Jem—but I'd never gotten the chance.

Sun poured into the room, turning my hair even lighter than it already was and illuminating the Eidolon demon. Destroyed by sunlight, it exploded in a revolting shower of ichor and guts. I slowly got to my feet, watching ichor dipping silently down the walls, the only reminder of its presence.

 _Are you proud of me now, Dad?_ I thought inexplicably. As if my mind had somehow been severed from my body, I watched the other Abby, the one who didn't feel like _me_ anymore, walk over to the pile of clothes and leave the room without a backward glance. I was inhabiting my own body without feeling like I was truly present. I wondered if this was an aftereffect of shock.

There was a dark, narrow set of stairs that led to the ground floor. When I reached the bottom I quickly changed into my gear and glamoured myself against any strange glances I might receive. Before I opened the front door, I took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself for wherever I might be. I would have to find some way to get back to Idris—I wouldn't be surprised if the faeries had taken me to some far-flung island in the middle of nowhere, completely isolated from any sort of society.

But when I stepped out into blinding sun—so bright I had to shield my eyes—I stopped in my tracks. As soon as I saw a familiar street lined with brightly-colored houses, a steep hill leading down to the bay, and a streetcar slowly making its way down the road, a rush of pure, unadulterated relief swept over me, followed by pure, unadulterated fear.

I was in San Francisco.

"Mom," I breathed—what had the faeries done to her? Had Magnus been able to hold them off?—and I began to run through the crowded streets, dodging around mundanes and feeling the hot sun beat onto my sweaty hair. They had to have brought me here for a reason—why? To taunt me? To hold my mother as some sort of bait? She was a mundane; she had no idea how to defend herself against the Shadow World, not when she'd shunned it for so long. But surely Magnus would help her—

By the time I finally saw the bright red shutters of my house in the distance, I was panting and my legs were burning, but I continued to push myself forward. I wasn't being pursued—at least I didn't think I was—but even so, I glanced behind me just in case; there was no one in sight except for an elderly woman walking her dogs.

I realized too late that I was barreling straight for the house with no chance of stopping, and the front door was coming at me with more force than I would have liked. I braced myself for the impact, but instead it swung open and I tumbled into the front hallway, landing on my face.

I groaned loudly, letting out a few of the more colorful words in my vocabulary that I'd picked up from Will, and spat strands of hair out of my mouth as I pushed myself back to my feet. Why had the door been unlocked? It didn't look like there had been any sort of struggle in the house—from what I could see, all of the furniture was right where it should be, and there were no suspicious bloodstains on the walls…

"Mom?" I called, my voice edging further into hysteria as I checked the living room and kitchen, which were both empty, before taking the stairs two at a time. "Grandma? Magnus?"

But I never received an answer. After I was forced to conclude that the house was empty, I skidded into her bedroom and began tearing the place apart, looking for any signs that might point to where she had gone. I looked in all of her standard hiding-places—under a loose floorboard, under her pillow, in the very back of her closet—but I found nothing except for a crumpled-up piece of paper that looked like it had my father's writing on it. Deciding to read it later, I stuffed it into my pocket and continued my frantic search.

"They're not here."

I spun around, brandishing my seraph blade, but came face-to-face with the blue-skinned faerie, Hyacinth, who was standing at the door with her lips pursed. "They're in Alicante," she explained, taking a step towards me. "Magnus Bane Portaled them there when they heard that you were missing."

I didn't care whether she was there to recapture me or not; all I wanted to know was if my mother was safe. "But my mother is a mundane," I argued. "She can't—"

"She is willing to drink from the Mortal Cup," Hyacinth told me. "If it means she can help find you."

"No," I gasped. "She wouldn't." But even so, I remembered a dream I'd had of my mother in Idris, screaming my name…"So what are you doing here?" I demanded, rounding on Hyacinth. "Shouldn't you be trying to capture me?"

"I was sent here as a guard in case you showed up," Hyacinth admitted, unable to meet my eyes. "My queen ordered you captured alive in case you escaped…the faeries wanted to bring you somewhere far away from Idris where you wouldn't be able to interfere with their plans. But I am unable to do so. I am willing to risk the consequences if I am ever discovered because of your relation to Elizabeth Gray. She saved my life and I have yet to return the favor. Besides…" she paused. "I saw the way you loved James Carstairs, and he you."

I worried my bottom lip, suddenly not wanting to think of Jem. "If you wish to help me, Hyacinth, then answer this," I said slowly. "What are the faeries planning to do?"

"The automatons running on the Greater Demon's energy and powered with your blood are planning to march to Alicante and kill as many Shadowhunters as possible," Hyacinth explained. "Mortmain stored his automatons with my queen in case of his defeat. He played on our bitterness towards Shadowhunters for the way they treat us as monsters."

"But I am the clockwork queen," I said, beginning to pace in agitation around the room. "If I am able to command the automatons to stop, the army may be defeated…I must go to Idris."

"Yes," Hyacinth told me. "But there is no way to travel to Idris without my queen knowing you have done so. They are monitoring every Shadowhunter who is Portaling in and out of the country."

I stared at her blankly, my mind working a mile a minute. Surely there must be another way to arrive in Idris other than by a Portal…

And then the answer hit me; it was so obvious that I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it straight away. How had Jem and I been planning to travel to Alicante for our honeymoon? If mundanes passed straight through the borders of Idris without knowing it, then Shadowhunters must be able to pass, right? "I don't suppose," I began slowly, looking hopefully at Hyacinth, "You have any way of forging an airplane ticket?"


	39. Thirty-Nine

The mirrors in airport bathrooms were probably designed to make one look their worst, I thought to myself as I stared glumly at my reflection, which didn't appear unlike the way I had looked when I was staying at the Cartwright manor. Still, I was much paler than I would have liked, and under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting, I didn't look intimidating in the least in my Shadowhunter gear—the black only served to wash out my already pale complexion even more; I wished I had bothered changing into a more mundane outfit. I swiped at a cut on my face and ran my hands under the tap to wash off the dried blood. The water soon turned scalding, but I barely noticed. Physical discomfort didn't bother me half as much as it used to.

"Hey, are you all right?"

The voice came from somewhere to my left—it took me a moment to realize I was the one being addressed. Switching off the faucet, I glanced around and noticed that we were the only ones in the bathroom. "Yeah, um, I'm fine," I said awkwardly. "Thanks."

The girl who had spoken to me was standing off to the side applying makeup; I hadn't noticed her before. _Her_ reflection looked the same in the mirror; so it was just unflattering to me, then. She looked to be around Tessa's (physical) age, in her late teens or early twenties, but her appearance couldn't be more different. Her hair was short and spiky, the spikes dyed bright pink and green. She wore a nose ring and her ears were covered in multiple piercings. She held a smoking cigarette between her fingers.

"No offense, but you look like you've just killed someone, Blondie," she remarked, blowing a puff of smoke through her nostrils before lifting the cigarette to her lips to take another drag. "With the blood and all. Don't get me wrong—I like it. Needs a bit more color, though." She eyed my outfit disapprovingly through eyelashes thickened with mascara.

I gave her a weak, polite smile in return. "I'll keep that in mind."

She winked at me and turned back to her lipstick; I quickly grabbed a paper towel to dry my hands with before leaving the bathroom, wondering if I really looked as bad as I felt. Granted, she was the first person to actually _mention_ the blood…but it wasn't that noticeable, was it? I'd given myself a once-over in the mirror at home before I had left for the airport, and I could pass for a mundane as long as no one looked too closely. But there was always one person who saw more than the rest.

The boarding area had filled up noticeably since I'd last checked on it; I had spent the time waiting for my flight wandering around the airport, trying not to panic and pacing back and forth. The flight to Paris would be twelve hours; after that, I would meet Hyacinth again who would bring me to the border of Idris, safe from any faeries who happened to be monitoring the wards. I was fully aware that this plan had potential to backfire in the worst possible way, but I had no choice but to trust Hyacinth if I wanted a chance to help stop the automaton invasion. An invasion which was all my fault.

I took a seat on one of the hard plastic chairs facing the departures board and pulled my father's crumpled letter out of my pocket; I wasn't sure why I had delayed reading it. Clearly Mom had felt the need to keep it from me—then again, that was nothing new—but I was confident that whatever he had written wouldn't shock me. I wasn't sure how to feel about Dad anymore.

Still, I hadn't expected to recognize the brand of paper and ink—Mom had torn it right out of his journal. I had never suspected that there had been a missing page. And judging by his harried scrawl, it had been one of the very last entries, if not the last he had ever written. My heart quickened as I smoothed out the paper and I chewed on my nails nervously as I scanned the first lines, the soft chatter of the airport fading from my ears:

_My dearest Grace,_

_I have told my mother to only give you this letter if I am dead._

The people seated around me were beginning to rise and gather their belongings; the flight must have been called. Mechanically, I stood up too, tearing my eyes off the paper and slipping it into my pocket. So Dad _had_ known, then. He had known there was a very real possibility that he would be killed, and yet he still chose to leave Mom and I behind. I wanted to be furious at him—indeed, even a week ago I would most certainly have been—but I couldn't. I understood his situation far more than I wished I did.

_I trust that she will keep her word. And please give this to Abby when she is old enough, too. She deserves to know._

After presenting our tickets for verification, we stepped out onto the tarmac, heated by the midafternoon sun, where the airplane was waiting. There were maybe a hundred passengers in total; I was the only non-mundane in sight. It was both alienating and relieving.

_I am still a Shadowhunter, Gracie. Even though my Marks have been stripped from me, I am and will always be Nephilim._

The cabin was much narrower than I would have liked, the seats worn by years of travel. I slipped into my assigned seat and, glancing around me, began to feel a bit uneasy about this entire ordeal. I'd never thought myself to be claustrophobic, but spending twelve hours with a hundred other people in a flying piece of metal was enough to put anyone on edge. I wondered what Henry would think of flying.

_I must try to save my family, even if my efforts end up futile. I am trying to make the world a better place for Abby. I hope that she will read this one day and understand what I am trying to do._

"I do, Dad," I whispered, hoping the moisture I felt building up in my eyes was just allergies. "I understand."

Someone plopped into the seat next to me; I saw that it was the colorful girl from the airport. She grinned easily at me and extended a hand. "Guess we're stuck with each other, then. I'm Dorothy Lewis."

"Abby Cartwright," I said in return; her grip was strong, her hands callused. She opened a flight magazine and began flipping through it nonchalantly, as though this was something she did every day. I wished that I possessed a fraction of her indifference. The plane began to roll slowly down the runway. God, I was in for it now, wasn't I?

_Sacrifice to save those you love is not stupidity or foolishness. I understood your choice to remain a mundane; I hope you will one day understand mine._

_Forgive me,_

_Jonathan_

I folded up the letter very carefully, as if it would tear with any slight movement, and carefully stowed it away in my pocket. There was a horrible ache in my heart; I wanted to cry and smile at the same time. "Sacrifice to save those you love is not stupidity or foolishness," I murmured to myself. My father had sacrificed his life; so had Jem, and even Will had left his family when he had thought it was the right thing to do. But what had _I_ done?

"That's the noblest thing I've heard all day," a voice said from next to me. I glanced over at Dorothy, startled, and immediately felt myself blush when I realized I had spoken loudly enough so that she could hear. "Did you think of that yourself?"

The plane roared to life beneath us and I shook my head, raising my voice to be heard over the sudden noise of the engines. "No—my dad did."

Dorothy said something about her own father never being intelligent enough to understand such a concept, and I tried to answer, but I was currently finding it very difficult to stay nonchalant. The plane hurtled down the runway until the airport became a blur, and suddenly we were in the air, leaving the ground—and my stomach—behind. I felt a strange swooping sensation low in my abdomen, with the unnerving sensation that my eyeballs were being pushed backwards into my skull. I tried desperately to calm myself by staring fixedly at the back of the seat in front of me and decidedly not watch the earth drop away from under me.

"This your first flight?" Dorothy asked sympathetically. I nodded once, breathing slowly and deeply and trying to count my exhales. Just when my dizziness began to subside, I made the mistake of glancing out the window and seeing that we were making a sharp turn over the bay, the wing of the plane dipping down over the sparkling water far below. "Don't worry," she told me while I closed my eyes tightly. "It feels strange at first, but you'll get used to it. I almost cried on my first flight."

I couldn't believe that I was a Shadowhunter and nearly crying over an airplane ride. I knew it was because I'd placed myself in a dangerous position: if this plane crashed, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Runes wouldn't help me. I just had to pray that nothing would go wrong. Sending up a quick, impassioned plea to Raziel, I finally dared to open my eyes and saw with relief that the plane had stopped climbing and was now flying through clouds, showing only brief glimpses of the land below. I might even have found it fascinating if I didn't already feel so ill physically and emotionally. I glanced down at my watch: only eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes to go until we landed in Paris.

A flight attendant came by with a trolley full of drinks; Dorothy ordered a glass of water while I ordered a Coke, hoping the bubbles would help soothe my stomach. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a soft drink; the taste alone did more than the fizziness did. Soon I felt myself perking up and I was able to look out of the window for longer periods of time. I could feel Dad's letter burning a hole in my pocket, but I forced myself not to look at it again. Beside me, Dorothy was chatting animatedly to a man sitting in the seat opposite us; apparently, she flew this route often and the path would take us over the North Pole and down through Britain before landing in Paris from the north. "Sometimes if you stay awake long enough, you'll get to see the northern lights," she said with a touch of reverence. "It's absolutely stunning."

I couldn't help it; curiosity had won out, and when she turned back to the front I asked her, "You sound like you fly this route pretty often."

"Oh, I do," she told me eagerly. "My fiancé lives in Paris and I try to visit him at least once a month."

My eyes widened. "Once a _month?"_

"Well, not all the time," she admitted sheepishly. "Sometimes he flies over here."

"Then please tell me it's not as long as it sounds," I begged. "Twelve hours?"

Dorothy laughed, long and loud; I had the feeling that she would have gotten along with Cecily. "Trust me, it's hell," she said, sadly not beating around the bush. "But I've slowly gotten used to it. There's plenty of time to catch up on your sleep, at least," she said when she saw my stricken expression.

"You must be very dedicated to your fiancé," I said after a moment, pondering the extraordinary time and energy put into such a ritual.

"I am," Dorothy agreed; she twisted her left hand so I could see the sparkling diamond sitting atop her finger. "Luckily we're getting married in August, so I won't need to do much more traveling. I see you're engaged, too." She nodded at my own hand; I hadn't noticed the Carstairs ring was that visible. "You look a bit young."

I bristled. "I'm nearly seventeen, actually."

"Whoa there, Granny," Dorothy said, holding her hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. "Whatever floats your boat. You look the sensible type anyways. What's his name?"

"Jem."

Dorothy raised her eyebrows. "Like Jem in _To Kill a Mockingbird?"_

I hid my smile; the connection had honestly never occurred to me before. "Not as often as you might think."

"That's disappointing," Dorothy mused. "It would have been a great story if he was named after the character. Like me: I was named after _The Wizard of Oz._ Elliott—my fiancé—never shuts up about it."

"Actually, Jem is short for James," I replied. And then, without skipping a beat, I added, "He was born ninety-nine years before the book was published."

Dorothy looked taken aback for the first time, and then she snorted. "I like you a lot, Abby Cartwright," she said, unaware that I was being completely serious. "You have to give me your address so I can write to you in the future."

I readily agreed, and we exchanged addresses; she lived in an apartment complex in one of the sketchier areas of San Francisco, one that Mom had often warned me away from going after dark. But I was in no danger from any mundane any longer. I felt myself beginning to relax at the company—and someone who was far removed from the Shadow World—and Dorothy spoke enough for the both of us, anyway. It turned out that she also wanted to go to Juilliard—for Drama—and, surprisingly enough, I realized that my desire to study music there was not as strong as it once might have been. New York no longer beckoned to me like a wonderful dream as it had done throughout my childhood.

The only awkward moment of the conversation came when Dorothy was telling me about Elliott, who, she said, was a freelance artist who traveled from city to city showcasing his paintings. Apparently, the business was more lucrative than it seemed.

"I met Elliott on an exchange to London," she said, her eyes taking on a hazy quality. "We kissed on Tower Bridge and spent all night at his shithole apartment in Camden. God, I miss those days…"

"I love London too," I mused. "Jem's favorite place was Blackfriars Bridge."

I realized I'd said the wrong thing as Dorothy snapped out of her reverie and frowned at me. "I thought you said you'd never been on a plane."

"I—I—I haven't," I stammered, quickly trying to cover up my lie. "Jem spent a lot of time there and he's told me all about it. I feel as if I know the place myself."

Dorothy still looked suspicious, but she didn't press the subject. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Our chatter continued on and off as the sky steadily grew darker outside. It was remarkably easy for me not to think about what I was planning to do. So easy, in fact, that I began to wonder what was wrong with me. My jittery nerves had given way to a calm resolve that was just as frightening in its own way. Did this mean that I was confident about my choice? Or had I just not thought it through enough? I swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto my face as the flight attendant came by with another tray of drinks. It was only then that I realized my stomach was completely empty. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten anything.

"Are they going to serve dinner?" I asked Dorothy under my breath.

She looked at me and laughed. "I promise they will soon. They just like to starve us so we'll buy more food. A glass of wine for my little sister," she told the stewardess and shoved it into my hand.

I looked at her in surprise and gratitude. "You look like you could use a drink," she said.

"You have no idea," I muttered as I took a sip.

True to her word, the food arrived soon after that. It was better than I had imagined airplane food to be, and soon I was feeling relaxed. _Everything will be fine,_ I tried to tell myself. _This is better than being tied up by the faeries. They can't hurt me up here._

I was just beginning to nod off when I felt Dorothy leaning over me, pressing her face against the window. "The northern lights!" she said in excitement. "Look!"

I peered out the window too and saw an array of beautiful green and pink lights shimmering across the sky, like some sort of warlock magic. I felt a pang at imagining Jem's expression if he could see them too, and sat back in my seat. I wished, more than ever, that he was with me.

"My mom loved these lights," Dorothy said wistfully. "I'd give anything for her to see them one last time."

"One last time?" I asked curiously, forcing myself away from my melancholy thoughts.

"She died when I was two," Dorothy explained, unable to meet my gaze for the first time. "Car crash. You really can't describe growing up without a parent, can you?"

"No," I said softly. "You can't."

* * *

 

I fell asleep somewhere over Greenland, drifting in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the flight. My dreams were, luckily, hazy and indistinct; I only caught glimpses of faces—Jem, Tessa, Will—before they faded out of focus. They were intermingled with reality; sometimes Tessa was sitting next to me; sometimes I caught sight of Will's inky black hair among those of the other passengers; and once Jem was even reading my father's letter. "I'm sorry," I whispered to him. He looked at me with those silvery eyes, sadness swirling in their depths. When I reached for him, he faded away into nothingness. I didn't have a particularly restful sleep, but it certainly wasn't the worst one I'd ever had.

I was awoken for good by Dorothy shaking my shoulder gently. "We're almost there," she told me. I tried to shake the remainder of sleep away and rubbed my eyes, feeling aches in my neck and legs when I moved them—I hadn't tilted the seat back into a more comfortable position to sleep. That strange falling feeling had taken over my stomach again, and my ears popped painfully. The plane was beginning to descend through the clouds, patchwork green fields visible through them. I watched as the fields below us gave way to farms, and then quickly progressed to suburban neighborhoods and then to Paris itself, the Seine twisting through its heart like a snake. Dorothy eagerly pointed out the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe to me; I wished I would actually have time to explore the city.

By the time the plane landed with a jarring bump, I was fully awake. Dorothy was nearly bouncing up and down next to me, eager to see Elliott. I couldn't help but smile at her antics, though it was with a heavy heart and more than a tinge of sadness. I wished I could be as excited as her.

I felt more than slightly disoriented as we left the plane—me thanking the pilots profusely as we did—and into the main airport. It was midday here, and I felt like a zombie as I shuffled through the terminal past rows of hapless people waiting for their own flights. Unintelligible French chatter filled my ears; I hadn't thought to take the language barrier into account.

Waiting by the baggage carousel was a tall red-haired, freckled boy wearing a full three-piece suit. Dorothy shrieked and ran straight into his arms. He spun her around and dipped her into a kiss. I got the feeling that the behavior came naturally to them. All I had brought was a carry-on bag, so I didn't need to wait for luggage like everyone else. I smiled at Dorothy as I passed her: she bid me a hearty farewell with a cry of "Write me!" And I gave her a thumbs up in agreement, although I couldn't promise her that. I would consider myself lucky if I was still alive within the week.

Hyacinth met me at the main entrance; I ducked into the corner to glamour myself before we left the airport into a foggy, cool day. "Has anything happened?" I asked her at once.

The faerie shook her head. "My queen believes you were freed by the Shadowhunters. She does not think you could have escaped by yourself. The automatons will be in Alicante within the day, as will the demon. You must call them off."

I ran my hand through my knotted hair, lifting my head up so I could feel the cool mist on my face. "What of Tessa and Magnus Bane? Have you heard from them?"

"I do not know about them," Hyacinth said. "I would imagine they are preparing to fight as well."

"If you can, I want you to find Tessa and ask her to find the Mortal Sword and Mortal Cup." I bit my lip. "She will know why." I hoped.

"I will do my best," said Hyacinth. She paused. "I know not of the whereabouts of your Brother Zachariah. I am sorry."

"Don't worry about it," I said, but my heart involuntarily clenched at the mention of Jem. We turned down a corner, lost in thought—I couldn't even appreciate the architecture of the neighborhood—when I was suddenly reminded of slamming the Eidolon demon's head into the desk. A wave of nausea gripped me so hard that I had to stumble to the side of the road and double over, praying that I wouldn't vomit. A group of tourists gave me a wide berth as they passed.

"Are you ill?" Hyacinth asked. "We are almost there."

"No," I gasped, swallowing back the nausea and forcing myself to stand up straight. My stomach still swirled in memory of what I had done. "I'm fine. I was just…remembering something."

"You had to fight it, didn't you?" Hyacinth asked kindly. "The Eidolon."

"I was so stupid," I groaned. "I know it wasn't him, but I had—I had to—" At this exclamation, I could feel myself progressing into a full-blown panic attack. Hyacinth, bless her soul, waited patiently until I was finished.

"There lives a mundane with the Sight here who owns several horses," Hyacinth explained. "She lends them to Nephilim who wish to pass into Idris unnoticed. She will assist you from here."

My heart swelled with gratitude, and I reached out to clasp Hyacinth's blue hands in mine. "Thank you," I told her fervently, my voice rough with emotion. "I would be imprisoned or dead if not for you. Your people—the Seelie Court—have been swayed by Mortmain. Only you chose to help me."

Hyacinth shook her head slowly. "A century ago, Mortmain persuaded my Queen to store the automatons within her court—as I said, he preyed on our uneasy alliance with the Shadowhunters—and hoped that one day they would be reanimated with Nephilim blood. I helped you because Elizabeth Gray helped saved my life decades ago and I owe her kin a debt for that." She paused, her eyes taking on a worried look. "If the Nephilim learn that this was due to my Queen…I fear that this may turn into all-out war."

"It won't," I promised her. "With luck, I will be able to stop them before they reach Alicante. No Shadowhunter needs to know of this."

The faerie took a step away from me. "I do hope you are correct," she told me sadly. "Good luck, Abigail Cartwright." And then she rounded a corner and was gone.

I rubbed my eyes, knowing I could not bow under the pressure now. I had too much riding on this for me to hide away. Still, a lifetime of instincts did not disappear so easily, and for a moment I contemplated checking into a hotel and lying low until everything was over. It would be what Mom would want me to do; what Jem would want me to do. I exhaled shakily and looked back at Paris, the sun shining brightly upon the city. _Should I?_ I thought. The Shadowhunters would likely be able to defeat the army on their own…and perhaps the faeries would tell the Clave the truth…

 _Do not be a fool, Abby,_ Will's voice, of all things, sounded in my head. I started, surprised. _You are only lying to yourself. You are a warrior._

"Will?" I asked aloud, but there was no answer. But I had to admit that my cowardice would get me nowhere. I had to fight.

I _had_ to.

I had to save Jem.

_Sacrifice to save those you love is not stupidity or foolishness._

Of course Will Herondale would be the one to finally talk sense into me. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and strode forward.

* * *

 

"Her name is Artemis," Mrs Daly told me as she saddled up the chestnut-colored horse in front of me, who looked most unhappy to have been disturbed. "She's one of my hardiest and most gentle horses, capable of traveling long distances without needing to stop. You said you were going to Alicante?"

I nodded, reaching out one hand so that Artemis could sniff it. When she saw that I wasn't holding a treat, she stepped back and snorted impatiently, clearly wanting to go back inside the stable. Mrs Daly clucked her tongue impatiently as the horse sidestepped the bit, upsetting a bumblebee that had been resting on a flower.

As preoccupied as I was, I couldn't believe I was actually in the heart of Paris—the yard was far too large and far too wildly green to be natural. I guessed that it was due to some sort of strong glamour that even I wasn't able to see past. After I had finally gathered up my courage, I'd knocked on Mrs Daly's door and explained to her that I was a wayward Shadowhunter who wished to ride into Idris. She had nodded gravely and led me inside, keeping up a friendly chatter all the way. I'd even taken a cup of calming tea despite myself, and felt myself relax as Mrs Daly told me about her business—clearly many Shadowhunters used the services. I would pay her before I left, and drop the horse off at a special stable in Alicante when I arrived, where she would be taken back to Paris.

"I presume you know the path you will take on your journey?" she asked, looping the reins from over Artemis's head and handing them to me. I took them, smiling sheepishly.

"Actually, I don't," I admitted, more than a bit embarrassed. "I know Idris is southeast of here, but I have no way of telling the direction from northwest."

Mrs Daly looked surprised. "Don't they teach you geography in that academy of yours?"

"I didn't go to school in Idris," I explained. "I…I was raised as a mundane. I mean, I was always a Shadowhunter, but I didn't choose to become one until recently."

The older woman surveyed me with a hawk-like stare until I began to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. She looked very much like Bridget—I was certain they were distantly related—and crossed her arms. "Have you no mundane friends?"

"No, not really," I admit, clearing my throat awkwardly. "They all just sort of, um, left after a while," I said with a failed attempt at a nonchalant shrug. "I think they thought I was strange." Yes, I could hear the whispers of my classmates even now: _Do you see her sitting alone over there? That girl with the dirty blonde hair? She's so weird. I heard her father was involved with the mafia…she's a loser with no friends. No wonder no one wants to go near her…_ I blinked rapidly, trying to bring myself back to the present. I'd been ostracized at school for being weird, ugly, and quiet. Certainly I wasn't the only person who fit into the above categories, but I'd always been a main target. Throughout my entire life, there had only been five people who were close enough to me to be friends: two of them had abruptly moved away—one hadn't ever written me back after I'd sent a letter to her new address, and one hadn't even told me she was moving away, let alone given me her address—two others had become closer to each other until they were outright ignoring me, and the last had gradually stopped coming to school until she disappeared off the face of the earth altogether; there had been rumors floating around that her family had been Soviet spies and she'd been deported back to Russia, an opinion that seemed tame compared to what they must be saying about _my_ current absence from school now. At any rate, until the London Institute, I'd had a horrible track record when it came to friends, to the point where I'd begun to wonder if I wasn't cursed after all.

"Perhaps you _were_ the strange one," Mrs Daly said as we slowly made our way over to the back gate, which opened up onto a field that most certainly could not fit in the heart of Paris. The city must be heavily glamoured.

I glanced over at her, startled. "Pardon?"

"I don't mean that in a negative way. Speaking as a mundane, you Shadowhunters are not the easiest to be around. The children at school—they sensed you were different, even if they could not explain it themselves. Too often _different_ means _wrong._ Have you not been around someone who unsettled you?" She looked knowingly at me.

"I—I guess I never thought of it that way," I said. "So it was nothing personal then?"

Mrs Daly chuckled. "I should think not," she said. "Mundanes are not lesser than Shadowhunters."

"No," I whispered to myself, thinking of my mother and, surprisingly, Dorothy. "They aren't."

* * *

 

Mrs Daly gave me a saddlebag with bread and water, which I accepted gratefully. She told me to take a left once I got to the end of the field and then ride into the forest; apparently Artemis knew the rest of the way by heart. After I had thanked her once again, she slapped Artemis's side and she took off at a gallop. I was forced to hold on for dear life as we raced across the field; my eyes watered from the wind and I wished I had ridden Xanthos more than once so I would be more accustomed to riding.

As it turned out, I didn't even need to steer Artemis in the right direction: she seemed to know the way by heart, veering to the left as soon as we reached the forest so that I was nearly unseated. I kept my eyes wide open at first, making sure that I wouldn't smack my head on any low-hanging tree branches, but the path in front of us seemed fairly clear. So I sat back and allowed my thoughts to roam as we galloped toward Alicante.

I wondered, if I hadn't gotten as far as I had with Jem, if I hadn't made love to him on that sweltering July night, if I would be more content with him as a Silent Brother, present in mind but not in body. If we hadn't given ourselves up to completely to each other, would I have mourned so much at the loss of his touch? I wasn't searching for a cure just so I could be intimate with him again, I tried to tell myself fiercely. I would be doing this regardless of what did or didn't happen. But would the loss of Jem's body, not just his heart, be as strong?

 _But you can never have his heart again,_ a nasty voice at the back of my mind whispered. _You told him that you did not love him anymore._

I swallowed hard, tugging on Artemis's reins to slow her down when I heard the rush of a nearby stream. I felt physically ill every time I remembered what I had said to him. There was no way he would forgive me for what I had done. _I_ would never forgive myself for it.

I halted Artemis when the brook came into view, a narrow but fast waterway weaving through the trees. My legs were numb from the hours of riding, and my knees instantly buckled when I slid to the ground. I couldn't tell if we had reached Idris yet. Artemis bent her head to drink from the stream, and I splashed some cold water on my face when I could move again. My distorted reflection rippled in the water, and I thought back to the airport when I'd met Dorothy—had that really been less than a day ago? Had it only been three days since I'd escaped from Irina? It felt like a lifetime had passed.

I reached for my saddlebag and drew out the bread that Mrs Daly had given me, stuffing the entire thing into my mouth as I surveyed my surroundings. We were in the midst of a thick forest, birds fluttering to and fro as they called to each other. Look for the mountains, I reminded myself. They would mean I was nearly there.

A large brown spider scuttled across my field of vision, and I involuntarily shuddered. "I hate bugs," I muttered to myself. "I really, really _hate_ bugs."

And then a crunch from somewhere behind me made me jump to my feet and whirl around, brandishing my seraph blade. Artemis raised her head too, water dripping from her mouth. I quickly scanned the immediate vicinity, staring up at trees, looking for glamours. I didn't know if it was just an animal or—

An automaton.

It stood several yards away from me, standing perfectly still between two towering oak trees. From a distance, its features resembled that of a human, but the more I stared the more I thought that it looked like one of Mortmain's early designs. I couldn't make out its eyes, and a tattered rag hung off its shoulders in a poor facsimile of clothes. My mouth was suddenly very dry.

"What do you want?" I called shakily, as if it could possibly answer me. I wasn't surprised when it didn't move.

_You shall be the clockwork queen._

Without taking my eyes off it, I lowered my seraph blade and pressed the tip into the not-yet-healed scratch on my wrist where the handcuffs had dug into my skin. A single drop of blood trickled out of the wound, staining the silver blade. Then I brought it back and tossed it—the very first knife I'd learned to throw in the training room so long ago. It hurtled through the air, a brilliant flash of light, and slammed directly into the automaton's chest. The clockwork creature instantly fell, its gears slowing to a grinding halt.

There was complete and utter silence for one long second, and then I was running toward it, yanking the bloodstained blade out of the gears. "Are there more of you following me?" I demanded.

It nodded once, its blank eye sockets boring into my own. I felt as if a bucket of ice had been dropped directly into my stomach.

"Are they planning to attack Alicante?"

The automaton nodded again.

"And I'm the only one who can stop them?"

There was a third and final nod, and the automaton suddenly jerked violently as ichor began to pour from its mouth. I took a step back in disgust as whatever demonic energy had possessed it vanished, leaving me alone with a pile of gears.

The sound of crunching behind me sent my senses into red alert again, but when I whirled around I saw with a rush of relief that it was just Artemis coming to find me. I rubbed her nose once before swinging myself back up into the saddle, using a nearby tree stump as leverage. "We need to get to Alicante," I told her. "As quickly as possible."

Artemis didn't need any prodding from me; she immediately took off at a dead gallop, her hooves loudly pounding the dirt while I leaned low over her neck, tangling my hands in her mane. We were much closer than I thought; barely an hour later, by my estimation, the forest began to thin ahead. I kept my eyes on the widening spaces between the trees—something bright was glowing ahead, although I had no idea what it could be. Artemis picked up her pace, as if she could sense that we were nearly there too—

And then we burst into blinding sunlight glinting off a lake so brightly that I had to shield my eyes. Lake Lyn was surrounded by mountains, their snowcapped peaks rising into the sky. The water glowed an unearthly blue. It would have been a picturesque sight if not for the automatons.

There had to be at least a hundred of them, standing perfectly still on the opposite side of the lake. They barely resembled humans, as the one in the forest hadn't. Beyond the army, I could see a dark shadow weaving in and out of the treeline. The Greater Demon, I figured. The silence pressed heavily on my ears. They were waiting for something—the Seelie Queen? Why hadn't they begun their assault yet?—but that didn't matter in the end, I supposed. The outcome would be the same either way. There was no telling how many of them there were, at least not without sustaining heavy losses. What was that term? A pyrrhic victory? I had never thought such a costly triumph was really a victory at all.

I tied Artemis's reins in a knot so she wouldn't trip over them and quietly hopped down from her back. "Get to Alicante, girl," I whispered, giving her a farewell pat. "You'll be safe there." She nickered softly, as if she understood, and trotted off in the opposite direction.

I knew that I had to reveal myself, to make the speech I had been rehearsing over and over during the journey here, but I couldn't move. My legs were frozen. I was just as much of a coward as I ever was.

The trees began to spin around me as my body spiraled into panic mode, but I reached out and steadied myself against a tree before my legs gave out. Good. It meant that I was becoming less able to think clearly.

_"Abby!"_

I flinched at the sound of Tessa's voice, so comforting and familiar, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around. She grabbed me and pulled me into a tight hug before drawing back to glare angrily at me. "Where have you been? We were worried sick about you! And Jem—"

"Tess," I said wearily, hoarsely. Her eyes widened as she met my gaze. "I'm sorry. I owe you an explanation…I owe all of you an explanation. I—I went to the Seelie Court. I thought that the faeries could help me save Jem. But I was—am—so stupid. Years ago, he—Mortmain—manipulated the faeries into storing the automatons within the Court. They would be animated by whatever Shadowhunter's blood came to them, and that Shadowhunter happened to be me. They are going to attack Alicante. It's all my fault."

"Hush, Abby, it's fine," Tessa soothed. "It is _not_ your fault. You were prepared to do anything to save Jem. The Clave has been alerted of this and are planning a retaliation."

"The Clave cannot win," I replied, shaking her hand off my shoulder. "Tessa, I must go and face the Greater Demon. It killed my father. Only I can stop this."

The dawning horror in her eyes told me that she understood what I meant. "Abby, you cannot—" she began urgently, but I cut her protests off.

"I would be dead already if not for the faerie Hyacinth. I asked her to pass a message on to you. If you can ever bring the Mortal Sword and Mortal Cup here, ask the Angel to cure Jem. He deserves a long, happy life. And…" I bit my lip—here came the hardest part—"If the two of you wish to be together someday, I sincerely hope for your eternal happiness."

Tessa was shaking her head slowly. She looked absolutely horrified. I wanted to reach out, to hug her, but I knew I wouldn't be able to go on if I did. "You cannot do this, Abby," she said fiercely. "I will not allow it."

I smiled at her, but I was certain it looked more like a grimace than anything. "Please give this to Jem," I said, reaching into my pocket to place my father's letter in her hand, closing her fingers over it. "He of all people should understand what I mean."

_"Abby—"_

"You cannot stop me, Tessa," I said softly. "You were the clockwork princess, but I am the clockwork queen."

She clearly wasn't expecting that—her mouth fell open, and I knew I had less than a second before she would forcibly prevent me from walking forward. If anything, she would Change into me to sacrifice herself instead. But to do so would be a loss for everyone.

_Abby._

This voice was softer, farther away, reaching into every secret crevice of my mind, and my entire resolve faltered. "Jem," I whispered. He was so close… _Jem_ …I wanted so badly to run to him, to tell him that I hadn't meant a word of what I'd said in the Cartwright manor.

I could.

But no.

I had to face this.

I had to be brave like my father.

So it was Dad's face that was first and foremost in my mind as I took one step forward, and then another, and another, until I emerged from the treeline and began to walk toward the lake.

The automaton army was perfectly still, but the shadow of the Greater Demon had disappeared. I felt the air around me ripple and shimmer, and I could sense powerful magic surrounding me—surrounding the forest, so that the only beings inside were the demon and myself.

Only I could pass through the barrier. Not even Magnus's magic, Tessa's shapeshifting ability, or Jem's power could touch this, at least for the moment. It would give way eventually, and I didn't want to be there when it did. But for now, nothing of Earth could touch it.

It's amazing how time passes when you know that you are going to die. Every moment feels as if it lasts a century, and you realize that you've taken your entire life for granted. You become aware of every heartbeat in your chest, every breath you inhale and exhale, the wind rippling your hair, the feel of the sun on your neck, the grass under your feet, the miracle of life itself. And you come into this heightened awareness at the very moment you realize that you're about to lose it all.

The Greater Demon was in a form that I hadn't seen before, but part of me knew instinctively that this was his true appearance. He was nearly twice my height—at least ten feet tall. He resembled a deformed skeleton, his bones yellowed and his eye sockets as black as the automatons were. He resembled a creature from my greatest nightmares—and yet, his real form didn't scare me as much as his original form did.

"Abbadon," I said quietly, and drew my seraph blade. "That is your name, isn't it?"

 _"How do you know that?"_ he snarled—the first time I had heard him speak. His voice was grating and guttural—it seemed to be coming from the air itself, not his physical being.

"I did my research," I said. Dad would have smirked. Will would have smirked. I, however, was unable to. "You were the one who was sent by Mortmain to kill my family. You killed my father."

 _"Humans die every day, Shadowhunter,"_ snarled Abbadon. _"I merely deliver them to their intended fate sooner."_

Something hit the barrier with such great force that we were both briefly knocked backward; the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The Shadowhunters were trying to break the barrier. Was it Magnus? Was it the Clave? Was it Brother Zachariah? I had no idea, but it didn't matter. I was running out of time, again.

"I don't care what your motive was," I said. "I don't know why the Seelie Queen sent you here, but I do know that if you kill me, the clockwork army will fall. They were reanimated with my blood, and they will die with me." I raised Maxwell's dagger, my arm surprisingly steady, and held the tip against my heart.

_"Foolish mortal. You expect me to falter, to keep my promises with the queen of the faeries. But I never intended to. I shall kill you."_

"So be it," I said, my voice steady and unwavering. "I need to die, and you shall be the one to give Death to me."

For a split second, the Greater Demon hesitated, and I began to falter. What had I done?

But before I could answer that question, there was an enormous burst of golden light, enveloping me so that I stumbled back and cried out as the barrier broke. The dagger clattered out of my hands, and I knew with a rush of relief that my plan had failed, that I would survive this—

But then Abbadon roared in rage, and he came at me so fast that I didn't have time to jump aside, and drove the Cartwright dagger directly through my heart.

I stumbled backward, sure the shock was visible on my face. Time had slowed down, and I didn't feel the pain yet. The sky whirled above me, and then the blue of Lake Lyn and finally the grass—and then I landed hard on my back, my hands scrabbling for the handle buried in my chest.

I heard Abbadon's roar of victory, and Tessa screamed my name, and then I heard another scream inside my head, a cry of unbearable pain that slammed into my skull. I opened my own mouth, but only blood came pouring out. Somehow I managed to grasp the dagger and pull it out of my chest. There was blood—so much blood—and then my head was elevated, scratching against someone's robes, and I was staring up into the terrified face of Brother Zachariah. "Jem," I gasped, and scrabbled uselessly at his robes, but more blood came pouring out of my lips. He was saying something to me but my mind was growing foggy—Tessa was there, on my other side—Jem was cradling my head in his lap and frantically drawing runes on me—everything was blurring at the edges—

And then I finally felt the pain, ripping through me, slicing my body apart, and I began to convulse. My vision was fading fast, and the last thing I saw was an explosion of golden light, as if all the neurons and synapses of my brain were bursting at once.

And then there was nothing.


	40. Forty

**I** knew that I was dead.

There was nothing around me but darkness. Choking, stifling— _we are dust and shadows_ —and I _was_ a shadow, now. The darkness had swallowed me whole.

Until a tiny pinprick of light burst into view from somewhere far, far above me. I didn't have arms or legs—or even a body to speak of—but even so, I struggled toward it with what little sliver of consciousness I had left as it steadily grew closer and closer.

I realized that I was no longer formless, and my vision cleared into a sharper point than it had ever been before. The shining light didn't hurt my eyes—in fact, now they seemed to absorb it, refracting and reflecting so that I was staring into a brilliant rainbow.

I was safe, content in a way I couldn't ever remember feeling in life. Through the light, I glimpsed a sparkling river beyond which there were trees, thick and full with emerald green leaves. A small boat floated peacefully on the edge of the embankment, and I could see there was a figure standing on the opposite side.

Someone was waiting for me.

I could see his blond hair glowing in the light even from my distance, and he was dressed in a long white tunic like I imagined angels wore. As if he could sense my gaze, the figure reached out his arm, beckoning me to him.

"Dad," I whispered, and reached my own arms out to him. But his form was already blurring, fading away. I felt a tugging from beneath me, and I tried to resist it, to fight, but it was too strong. And then I was suddenly in the abyss again, hurtling head over heels through the darkness. The light began to fade, and I wanted to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth as I hurtled through the empty vacuum—

An explosion of golden light seared through my eyelids and I was slammed back into my own body, gasping, my eyes flying open. The sky whirled dizzyingly around me as all my senses rushed back at once.

Someone was cradling my head in their lap, long fingers brushing the hair from my eyes. I reached my arm up to catch Jem's hand in my own; a jolt of almost painful energy shot through my fingers and I quickly jerked my hand back. I had never seen such an expression on a Silent Brother—mingled horror, grief, and relief all at once. _"Jem,"_ I breathed. "What happened? It was so dark…"

"You were dead," Tessa said before he could answer, her voice thick. I pushed myself up onto my elbows so that I could see better, Jem still holding me, and immediately wished I hadn't. I was lying in a pool of blood, staining my hair and clothes. Both Jem and Tessa were soaked in it, but neither of them seemed to care. The Cartwright dagger lay inches from my right hand, the entire blade bright crimson. In awe, I moved my hand from Jem's to my chest, where the skin was perfectly smooth and whole, as if there had never been a wound at all. "Jem saved you," she continued, seeing my expression. "I summoned Raziel like you asked…and his one wish was for you to be brought back."

"Jem?" I croaked, twisting my head around to see his face. He leaned over and placed his lips on my hair; it was as if the runes that had made him a Silent Brother had been momentarily overpowered. _There was no question, Abby,_ he said, sounding strangled. _I—_ we _—would never let any harm come to you._

"You were supposed to wish for him to be cured," I accused Tessa, what little respite I had felt at being alive seeping out of my chest. My only two options—the faeries and the Mortal Instruments—had been exhausted, and now there was absolutely nothing I could do. Nothing.

 _Being human again means nothing to me if you are not present,_ Jem told me. Tessa didn't look apologetic in the least, either. Disappointment surged through me; I could taste the bitter weight of failure on my tongue.

It was only then that I remembered what I had died _for._ "What happened?" I asked, glancing around the lake; the scene seemed utterly calm and peaceful, and the army of automatons were now nothing but heaps on the ground. Black-clad Shadowhunters were already beginning to surround them.

"The Clave has just arrived," Tessa explained. "Buford Fairchild killed the demon. Abbadon's curse on your family is now lifted."

I blinked, unable to believe her words. "For good?"

"Yes. And the automatons are destroyed for good as well." She paused. "The Clave is going to want to hear your testimony."

"Great," I groaned. "I'm going to have to tell my mother everything." But I knew that was a small price to pay for being alive. "Help me think of an excuse," I begged Tessa, but her lips were pursed and she was staring at something in the distance. My heart sank.

_"ABBY!"_

I heard my mother's familiar shriek, and I wearily lifted my head from Jem's shoulder to see her sprinting towards me, with Grandma and Magnus not far behind.

"They're going to want to bring you to the Basilias," Tessa muttered, getting to her feet. I knew the Basilias was a hospital of sorts in Alicante, but I didn't feel sick. For someone who had just been dead, I felt perfectly healthy. I turned to meet Jem's blind gaze, which hadn't wavered from my face since I had opened my eyes.

"I was lying when I told you that I don't love you anymore," I whispered. "Do you know that?"

 _I know,_ he said simply, and gently helped me to my feet before pulling his hood back up over his head.

By now the others had reached us; tears were streaming down my mother's face, and she pulled me into a tight hug. I'd barely wrapped my arms around her in return, and she was lecturing me before I even had a chance to open my mouth. Slowly drawing back from her, I was prepared to grin and bear her admonishment—at least until I noticed that her arms were decorated in spidery black runes, and a shining seraph blade stuck out of her pocket. _"Mom,"_ I gasped in utter shock. "You're a—you're a Shadowhunter?"

She couldn't hide her guilty expression. "Yes, Abby. I am."

"But _how?"_

"Since I had already been a candidate for Ascension, and the Clave knew that it was a dire situation, I was given permission to drink from the Mortal Cup," Mom said. "I would do anything to save you. I wish I had done this sooner…but you might have been left without both parents. But that is not your burden to bear."

I was still unable to speak, to see my mother in this changed form. In the end, it was Grandma who broke the silence. "I think _you_ have some explaining to do, Abigail," she told me.

"Mom…Grandma," I began, looking back and forth between them, and exhaled loudly. I wasn't entirely sure I was in the same reality anymore. "It's a long, _long_ story."

* * *

Neither Jem nor Tessa left my side as we Portaled into the Basilias, where I was thoroughly examined by the Silent Brothers, who were, I guessed, less concerned with my current condition and more curious about my encounter with Raziel. I sat still patiently enough until Brother Enoch, who had drawn a vial of blood from my arm, straightened up and studied it closely. _There is an anomaly in this sample,_ he mused. _An added element I have not come across before in the blood of a Shadowhunter._

I yanked my sleeve back down and turned my gaze to him; I had been staring at the others who were standing just out of earshot, Tessa explaining something in a low, urgent voice to my mother and grandmother, with Zachariah beside her, a silent mediator. Magnus stood a ways apart from them, arms crossed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere but here. I didn't blame him. "But I'm otherwise healthy, right?" I asked the Silent Brother before me, swinging my legs off the cot I had been lying on. "I can leave now?"

Enoch slipped the vial of blood into his robes; I could feel him scrutinizing my face. _It would be wise for you to stay overnight as a precaution,_ he said. _But I will not force you._

"Good," I said, and immediately stood up. I was looking forward to changing out of my gear and into something less bloodstained. Sleep would also be nice, as I was completely exhausted. Unfortunately, it didn't look like I would be getting that luxury anytime soon.

Since the automaton battle had ended before it had even gotten a chance to begin, no Shadowhunters had been wounded, and so I was the only patient in the Basilias. I took a moment to stare around at the rows of empty beds, something like mingled relief and pride washing over me. I had done what my father would have. And yet…I still didn't feel _worthy._ I still felt like Abby.

Maybe that was the point, I thought. You didn't need to be a certain kind of person to be brave. I hadn't inherited Dad's reckless heroism, like I'd inherited his hair and eyes, but I had still chosen this. I had chosen courage, not because I felt obligated to prove to myself that I could be just as brave as he was, but because I had known it was the right thing to do. And maybe that was all that mattered.

When I turned back to the others, still lost in thought, I noticed with a twinge of displeasure that they had been joined by Irina Cartwright and Andrew Lightwood. As I drew closer, to my surprise, I realized that Grandma was the one speaking now, and she didn't sound thrilled in the least; in fact, her tone was downright accusatory.

"When I left my granddaughter in your care, Irina, I expected that she would be taught well and trained properly. Instead, you kept her locked in a bedroom and endangered her life when you enacted a scenario that may well have killed her." Now she turned on Andrew, her eyes narrowed. At least he had the sense to shrink back from her glare. "I fail to see what you were thinking when you allowed an untrained girl to participate in an exercise that was meant for fully-trained Shadowhunters. It was sheer luck that she survived—"

"It wasn't luck," I said quietly, stopping next to Zachariah and feeling his attention shift to me. "And I am a trained Shadowhunter. Perhaps not fully, but I am trained."

The only person who looked more shocked than Grandma was Irina herself. "That is a preposterous notion," she snapped. "That requires years of training—"

"Or months in a dangerous environment." I cut her off, dimly surprised at my sudden boldness. The same decisive calm that had taken over me on the airplane was enveloping me again, pushing me forward. "And I have lived that." I paused, and fixed my gaze squarely on hers. "Summon the Inquisitor and call the Clave into session. I shall speak the truth under the Mortal Sword."

"Abby," I heard Tessa warn under her breath, but I didn't look away from my great-aunt. Irina's jaw was working furiously, and she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to turn around and storm out of the infirmary. But after a long minute of tense silence, she finally gave a short, terse nod.

"I shall do so at once," she said. "I expect it will have to take place tomorrow, as the majority of the Clave are likely still busy clearing up the remains of the automatons." She leveled a hard gaze at me, but I refused to look away.

 _I will procure the Mortal Sword,_ Zachariah said, stepping between us. His mental voice was flat, unemotional; my heart suddenly sped up as I wondered if this was a wise idea after all. Perhaps I should have asked him—and Tessa—if they did not mind the truth finally being made public. But it was too late, I supposed; there was no time to think up an elaborate lie, and besides, the Seelie Queen was bound to speak the truth when the Clave questioned her. My stomach twisted itself into a painful knot as I watched Irina disappear, with Andrew following her. As soon as the arched doors had closed behind them, I turned to Grandma beseechingly.

"Who is the Inquisitor?" I asked her. "Are they likely to be sympathetic?"

A dry, humorless grin crossed her face. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid not," she replied, and my heart sank. "Irina _is_ the Inquisitor."

* * *

After I had finished speaking, the Council Chamber echoed with my words, soon fading away into silence. I was kneeling on the dais in the front of the room, gripping onto the hilt of the Mortal Sword, my head bowed. I didn't dare to look up at the faces that I knew were staring at me; there had been more than a few gasps after I'd recounted certain parts.

I told them nearly everything: my arrival in 1878, the mysterious Portal that had brought me halfway across the world and back in time, the hospitality of those at the London Institute, Mortmain and his automatons, the Greater Demon that had been tasked to follow me, the Seelie Queen explaining that Mortmain had stored an army in her court to someday overthrow the Shadowhunters, my abduction by the faeries, and finally, the realization that I'd had to sacrifice myself in order to stop the automatons from attacking Alicante.

Irina had been ruthless in her questioning, not allowing me to pause for even a second. And when she'd asked if I had told her everything, I had answered in the affirmative, despite the tug of the Sword telling me that wasn't the entire truth. While I had mentioned that I'd become very close with the members of the Institute, I hadn't mentioned my engagement to Jem—not that they would have known who he was, anyway—or even what Brother Zachariah's true identity was. The Clave wouldn't be interested in such personal matters.

I finally worked up the courage to raise my head and look up at Irina, who was standing over me with an unfathomable expression on her face. "You say that the automatons could only be activated with Shadowhunter blood," she said. "How did the Queen of the Fair Folk convince you to do such a thing?"

My mind went blank, and I stared dumbly up at her, scrambling for a reasonable explanation. Luckily, Zachariah inclined his head to Irina, his robes swishing across the marble floor as he paced the length of the chamber. _If I may, Inquisitor, the Seelie Queen uses lies and manipulation to coerce others into acting along with her wishes. She could have conceivably threatened Abby by any number of means._

Irina still didn't look satisfied, but she couldn't well argue with a Silent Brother, nor doubt my testimony under the Mortal Sword. She turned back to the gathered Clave, who wore expressions ranging from shock to suspicion. "Assuming all of this is true," she began, "We should expect retaliation from the Fair Folk. They will not be pleased that their plan ended so poorly."

"They will not retaliate," a small voice said from the back row, and Hyacinth appeared in my line of vision, her blue skin and pointed ears a sharp contrast to the Shadowhunters who surrounded her. Had she been there all along? "None of the Fair Folk except for my Queen knew of this deception. She is too fearful of the Nephilim's wrath to attempt any sort of confrontation. It is likely that she will wish to renegotiate a peace treaty."

I let out the breath I'd been holding in a long relieved sigh, hardly daring to believe her words. I knew that Hyacinth was telling the truth—she, like the Seelie Queen, could not lie, but at least her words weren't misleading. Another long second passed, and the Mortal Sword was suddenly yanked out of my hand. I slowly got to my feet, seeing that I was no longer the center of attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Magnus wink at me just before he slipped out of the door.

Heedless of the Clave, I immediately jumped to my feet and sprinted after him, but he had already disappeared. Skidding to a stop in the middle of the corridor, I glanced desperately around me, needing to talk to him, needing to apologize. But Magnus was nowhere to be seen, and my shoulders slumped in dejection. Maybe I could ask Tessa to track him down and pass on my message. It wasn't likely he would even want to talk to me, anyway—

A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed my shoulder, and it was all I could do not to shriek in surprise as a familiar warlock pulled me back into the Council antechamber, cat eyes glittering. Magnus put a finger to his lips as a shimmering Portal burst into existence in front of us, illuminating the shadowy hall. "Quickly, before they find you," he hissed, and I wasted no time in leaping straight into it, tumbling head over heels through the light until the world again solidified. I stumbled backwards onto a cobblestone street, imposing rows of identical marble houses towering on either side of me. The sun was blazing; after so many months spent living in rainy London and then being locked up in Cartwright Manor, I was unused to it and I was forced to shield my face with my hand.

"Where are we?" I asked, glancing around with interest; there were no mundanes in sight, although we were clearly in an urban area.

"Le Marais," Magnus replied, ushering me forward and up the steps of the nearest house.

"That sounds French," I remarked, tilting my head back so I could see the gargoyle statue on the roof; it had an old-world feel, almost reminiscent of Idris. There was no way I would have ever come across something like this in San Francisco.

"That's because it is," Magnus said dryly. A key had somehow materialized in his hand even though I hadn't seen him reach into his pocket, and he pushed open the door.

"Paris?" I guessed, and he nodded. I followed him inside to a large, sprawling foyer with high ceilings and whitewashed walls, a long gilded mirror running along the east wall that I was certain was one of Magnus's personal touches. I hadn't imagined I would be back in the city so soon—or at all—and I found myself wondering if Artemis had made her way back home to Mrs Daly.

"So do you have a house in every country, then?" I asked as Magnus led me through the entryway into a living-room opposite. It was strangely empty aside from a wingback chair in the corner facing a pair of French doors leading to a balcony, and a few oil paintings on the walls. I guessed he didn't spend a lot of time here.

"Of course not," Magnus scoffed, gesturing for me to take a seat while he opened the doors. "That would be excessive even for me, not to mention the extraordinarily tedious business of filling out taxes every year. I try to limit myself to one every continent."

Despite myself, I grinned, a warm spring breeze blowing in from the street and ruffling my hair. "Even Antarctica?"

He shot me an unamused look and leaned against the door so that he was standing half-inside, half-out. "You really sound like him, you know."

"Who?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Magnus raised his eyebrows. "Jonathan. Listen, I couldn't stand the kid, but you should be proud of who you've become. And don't ask me to elaborate—you've nearly exhausted my daily quota of sentimentality."

"I never thought I'd hear someone say that," I remarked, letting a bit of ruefulness slip into my tone.

Magnus looked almost thoughtful, turning his head to stare out at the street. "He was more like the Herondales. You're more like the Blackthorns. Or maybe you take after your mother's family—I wouldn't know."

At finally hearing the words I'd been desperate for since I was a child—that I was like him, like Dad—I had to pause and take a moment to properly digest them. Magnus Bane seemed like an odd candidate for fulfilling such a wish, but I wasn't about to complain. Still, there wasn't an instant rush of pride and relief as I had imagined there would be, and I didn't think it was because Magnus was lying. I _did_ believe him; had known what he meant for quite a while. I was _like_ my father, but I wasn't my father. I had never needed to live up to some unattainable ideal of him because, not only would it be impossible to reach, I was Abby, a person in her own right. Maybe being Jonathan Cartwright's daughter was enough, I thought. Maybe being _Abby_ was enough.

"Now spit it out," Magnus said suddenly, looking closely at me. I hadn't realized the conversation had stopped until he spoke again.

I blinked slowly and refocused on him, still lost in thought. "Huh?"

"What you ran away from the Clave to tell me about," he said patiently. "It must have been important. If you're asking me if I have some magic potion to cure Brother Zachariah, I'm afraid you're out of luck. Will and Tessa exhausted all possible options a century ago, believe me."

"No, it's not that," I stammered, wrenching my mind back to the present. "I—I wanted to apologize."

I could have sworn I saw surprise flit across his face before he carefully composed an unaffected expression again. "Why?"

"I told the Clave that you were the one who created the Portal," I explained. "They'll come after you—exile you—"

"Hush," Magnus interrupted my babbling. "No, they won't. They're terrified of me enough as it is, especially that horrid Cartwright woman. They'll think I'll send them back to the Dark Ages, which is actually quite an attractive notion come to think of it."

"But what if they want to use your powers to change the past or the future?" I could imagine a dozen different scenarios that could go horribly wrong playing out in my head like a TV show, only infinitely more terrifying.

Now a wicked grin spread across his features. "Sweetheart, they know as well as I do that nothing can be changed."

"It…it can't?" I asked weakly.

"Haven't you heard of a thing called destiny?" Magnus shot back. "You Shadowhunters built your entire lives around this sort of melodramatic concept." He waggled his fingers in disdain. "Now, I'm not saying I believe in that hocus-pocus—"

"Says the man who can do magic."

"—But you seem to be in one piece. Did the world stop turning when you returned here?"

"Debatable," I muttered.

He ignored me. "I'm just saying that if I were to go back to 1887 and accidentally steal the blueprints for the Eiffel Tower while in pursuit of a particularly rambunctious vampire, it would still have been built."

"Are you sure you're not speaking from personal experience?" I asked, half-teasing. I expected a lighthearted response, but Magnus suddenly turned a very unbecoming shade of red and clapped his hands together loudly, making me jump. Some things never changed.

"So, are we done here?" he announced. "I'd invite you to stay for dinner, but I'm afraid I don't have any food here that is suitable for mortals. The Clave isn't exactly lining up at my door to visit."

"Can't I stay here anyway?" I questioned, giving him my best wide-eyed, hopeful stare.

Magnus didn't even blink. "Good one, kid." He moved back inside the room and closed the French doors with a click, pulling the blinds back into place over the windows. Sensing defeat, I reluctantly stood up and moved back into the foyer. I wondered if the rest of the apartment was as bare as the living-room.

"You'd let Tessa stay here if she asked," I remarked, slipping my feet back into boots and tucking my hair behind my eyes.

"So?" he asked, seemingly unimpressed.

"I _am_ her great-great-granddaughter…"

Magnus made a strange choking noise that sounded almost like laughter. "You're also Will Herondale's great-great-granddaughter. Nice try."

"Worth a shot," I sighed, and turned towards the door, but Magnus was suddenly there, blocking my path. I nearly collided into him but quickly recovered myself—not without catching my foot on a loose floorboard and nearly toppling over. Maybe it was fortunate I wasn't staying.

"Do you have anywhere you can go?" he asked. His eyes and voice were unreadable.

"Yeah, I do," I said breathlessly once I'd recovered my balance. It surprised me that I didn't even have to think about my answer, and stared hopefully up at Magnus. "I don't suppose you could help me find her? Her name's Dorothy."

* * *

Tessa's cottage was hardly large enough for two people, let alone four, but I had the sense that she was just delighted to have guests. I sat cross-legged in the middle of her living-room, my hands curled around a mug of tea. Mom and Grandma were both sitting on opposite ends of the small, worn couch, while Tessa herself perched on a rocking chair in the corner. We'd all been quiet since the kettle had whistled, as if it was some sort of signal for an awkward silence, and the only sounds were birds twittering outside. Stubbornly, I refused to speak first. Mom had been furious that I'd run away from the Clave meeting and then spent a night in Paris without telling her; thankfully, Grandma stopped her before the entire population of Alicante heard her lecture.

I couldn't say that I blamed my mother for being worried and upset with me; there was so much I had been keeping from her over the past weeks, especially when everything had changed so quickly. I had gone from being a relatively normal teenager to the target of a Greater Demon within days, not to mention my decision to sacrifice myself in order to stop an automaton army. That would have sufficiently baffled Mom even if I hadn't confessed that I'd spent six months in 1878 training to become a Shadowhunter and fallen in love with a boy whom she would later know herself as a Silent Brother. I supposed, then, it was no wonder that she didn't know how to treat me anymore. She had made her own sacrifice to drink from the Mortal Cup in order to try to save me when she hadn't done the same for my father. But she had been young and scared then; not so far removed from myself. Watching my mother struggle to comprehend what had happened to me, I got the feeling that our relationship would never quite be the simple mother-daughter dynamic we'd had before, and felt a gnawing sadness at the thought. Maybe in time, as she learned more about the Shadow World, she would begin to understand me.

Grandma, on the other hand, seemed to be _proud_ of me more than anything else, positively beaming every time someone mentioned what I had done. I was the granddaughter she had never known, the daughter of her only son, and I'd lived up to all of the expectations she'd had for me and then some. To her, I had proved myself worthy of the Cartwright name. She had taken me aside and told me that I was welcome to complete my training at the Los Angeles Institute if I wished. "You have family there," she'd said. "The Blackthorns have already taken quite a liking to you."

I'd smiled wearily and replied that I would definitely consider it, but hadn't given her a straight answer. Now, it seemed, I would be forced to choose.

Unsurprisingly, Grandma was the one to break the silence. "Well, Abigail, you need to make a decision," she said brusquely, her sharp blue eyes boring into mine. "You can't stay in Idris forever. The Clave has instructed that you finish your training at an Institute of your choice."

I carefully set down my mug and looked up at her. I'd tried to prepare my words beforehand, but of course my answer came out in a jumbled mess anyway. "I—I think I'd like to go to Los Angeles and live there," I began haltingly. "I want to get to know my extended family. And when I've completed training, I want to go to New York and attend Juilliard."

Grandma coolly raised her eyebrows. "Juilliard?" she repeated.

"For music," I clarified. "It's something I've always wanted to do. I can live at the Institute there and still be a Shadowhunter. I'd just have to get used to, well, little to no sleep, but I'm sure I could manage."

She stared at me, but not at _me;_ I knew right away that she was seeing my father—Dad, who had also played the piano. Dad, who would probably have gone to Juilliard, too, if he wasn't a Shadowhunter. "I suppose that can be arranged," Grandma said after a moment, and to my surprise she looked away first. Her eyes were misty. "We will leave tonight, then."

"Before you go, Abby, the Silent Brothers would like to see you at the Basilias." Tessa spoke up, her voice soft. "It's nothing urgent, but Brother Enoch said it is imperative you are informed."

I blinked, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath, hoping no one saw my hands begin to shake at the mention of the Silent Brothers. I couldn't care less what Brother Enoch had to say; there was only one Silent Brother I cared about. _"All_ of them?" I asked, forgoing subtlety in order to get a straight answer.

"Abby," my mother said softly, but quieted when Tessa's gaze moved briefly to hers.

"I would imagine so," Tessa replied. She was still watching Mom; I caught the edge of some inconceivable sadness in her eyes before she turned back to me and was her usual mild-mannered self again. "Would you like us to accompany you?"

I looked around the group, realizing with a dawning clarity that we had all lost someone. Tessa had lost Will. Grandma had lost my grandfather, Samuel. Mom had lost Dad. And I had lost Jem. Was there some sort of curse on the females in my family? Doomed to lose those they loved? I shook my head, though it was as much to banish the ridiculous thought as it was to answer Tessa. "No, thank you," I told her. "I think I'll be fine on my own."

Seeing that Grandma was about to protest, I sent Tessa a pleading glance. _Help me, Tess,_ I thought imploringly, and as if she could somehow read my thoughts, she cleared her throat and said, "Gail, would you mind helping me with the tea and biscuits?" Her tone was even but brooked no contradiction—it was almost amusing, and beyond strange, to see Grandma, a middle-aged woman, being given orders by _her_ own grandmother, who looked thirty years younger.

Mom and I handed our empty mugs to Tessa and Grandma, and the two women disappeared into the kitchen. It took me another moment to realize that Tessa had given me time to talk to my mother, and when I turned to look at her, expecting to be rebuked, I saw that she was smiling gently at me. "Aren't you upset?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Upset about what?"

"Well— _this,"_ I said, gesturing to the room at large. "This conversation. I mean…I'm going to Los Angeles to live with Grandma. An hour ago you were upset that I went to Paris with Magnus."

"I don't think the two situations are comparable," Mom said. She looked thoughtful. "Looking at you…you're only sixteen. You have so much left to learn, and yet sometimes I forget you are the same age I was when I met Jonathan."

"What do you mean?" I said.

She tilted her heard slightly as she regarded me; I couldn't remember ever seeing such an expression on her face before. She looked… _proud._ "You are wiser than I was, Abby. You've always been so independent."

It took me a moment before I was able to answer, as stunned as I was. "What about when I was seven and cried so much at the dentist you had to hold my hand?"

Mom laughed. I wondered what it was that had her in such a good mood. Was it the air? Was it because of the fact that she was now a Shadowhunter? Was it simply the fact that I was _alive?_ "There are always exceptions," she said lightly.

I got to my feet and sat down beside her on the couch, resting my head against her shoulder the way I used to as a child. I was relieved that she wasn't angry at me anymore—really, she was being remarkably calm about the entire situation—but there was still an elephant in the room that I knew she wasn't going to bring up first. "Why did you hide Dad's letter from me?" I asked.

The guilty expression that flashed across her face was all the answer I needed. "You found it, then, didn't you?" she murmured. "I hid it for the same reason I didn't tell you that I was offered the chance to become a Shadowhunter and refused. I was scared."

"I would have found out someday regardless," I said quietly.

She smiled sadly. "I know, Abby. I know. And when I made the decision to drink from the Mortal Cup, even when there was a good chance I wouldn't survive, I did it because I hoped to save you. Now I only wish I had done it sooner, and maybe I could have saved your father as well."

"It's not your fault, Mom."

She gave a tiny shrug, looking away from me to stare out the window onto the front porch. "Maybe, maybe not. What's done is done. Now go to the Basilias and see the Silent Brothers. Be back before dark," she said, with a tiny grin.

"I promise," I said, clasping one hand over my heart and standing up. "Scout's honor."

I was halfway to the door when she called after me. "Zachariah is the most human out of all of them. He still loves you, Abby. More than you know."

I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned back around to face her, sure the shock was visible on my face. "W—what?"

"Brother Zachariah. Gail told me his name was once James Carstairs." She paused. "I wouldn't have believed a word about what happened to you if I hadn't seen the way you look at him. Speaking as a mother…it terrifies me. But speaking as someone who once loved a boy more than life itself, I understand."

"Mom, I…" My voice cracked, and I felt the warm sting of tears against my eyes. She had never spoken to me like this before. "I don't know what to say."

She chuckled. "I'm not expecting an answer, Abby. You're not the same daughter I left behind at that motel. But maybe I'm not the same, either. Buford said that this transformation would be as much mental as it is physical."

Somehow, out of all of that, I could only focus on one word. _"Buford?"_ I croaked.

Mom glanced down at her hands, and I chose to believe that I was just imagining the flush on her cheeks, because any other explanation didn't make sense. "Fairchild," she explained. "He offered to train me. But that's not the point—"

"I think it is, actually."

" _Abigail,"_ she chastised. "Listen to me. I don't know exactly what happened between you and Brother Zachariah—and mark my words, I will eventually—but whatever it is, it cannot be ignored. You were willing to die for him." She twisted her wedding ring around her finger before pulling it off completely and regarding it with an unfathomable expression. Her voice was nearly a whisper. "Perhaps it is better after all to be separated permanently through death than continuing to live apart."

I had to leave the room for good then before either of us broke down, and took a moment in the hallway to compose myself. I knew that if I started crying now, I wouldn't be able to stop, so I struggled to pull myself together and pressed the jade pendant to my lips until the shudders had finally ceased. When I was certain I could speak again without my voice wavering, I took a deep breath and strode forward into the kitchen to bid goodbye to Tessa and Grandma before heading back outside onto the winding path that led to Alicante.

* * *

 _Are you familiar with the substance known as heavenly fire, Abigail?_ Brother Enoch asked me, his mental voice grave. I shook my head, feeling as if I had been called to the principal's office when I'd done nothing wrong.

"Should I be familiar with it?" I countered, glancing over at the other Silent Brother standing next to Enoch. Jem had been the one to greet me at the entrance to the Basilias, and though we'd been alone as he led me through the winding corridors to the room where Enoch was waiting, I hadn't dared to speak. I was being careful— _so_ careful—now, trying to beat down the feelings that rose up in me at the sight of him now: guilt for failing to cure him, and disgust at myself for pushing him away so callously at Cartwright Manor, even if I _had_ done it in an attempt to help him; an attempt which had ultimately failed. He had said that he knew I hadn't meant it, that he knew I still loved him, but what if he didn't truly believe me? Was that why he seemed so distant today? My heart thudded as I stared up at him, at his closed eyes and rune-marked cheekbones. _Jem, my Jem,_ I thought helplessly, hoping he could hear me. _I love you. I never stopped loving you, not even for a second. Please believe me._

 _Abby,_ he said, his voice a familiar sigh in my mind, and I knew his answer was just between the two of us. _I do believe you. Tessa explained the situation to me. Do not think that I am angry with you._

Before I could even consider an answer, he raised his voice to include Enoch, answering my previous question. _Heavenly fire is the divine fire of Heaven and the power that runs through the veins of angels. It infuses all seraph blades and steles. In very rare cases, however, it has been known to inhabit the bodies of human beings._

I remembered the blazing golden light as I'd been slammed back into my body; remembered the peculiar shock when my skin had touched Jem's, and was suddenly sure I wouldn't like where this was going. I stiffened and waited for his next words.

 _Such possession would normally kill mundanes and cause great injury to Shadowhunters, at the very least,_ Jem continued, folding his hands in front of him. _It occurs during direct contact with an angel._

"So when Raziel brought me back to life, he infused me with heavenly fire," I finished, and stared down at my hands. I'd thought my skin had looked more golden than usual, but hadn't put any more contemplation into it. "Is that the anomaly in my blood?"

 _Yes,_ Enoch answered this time. _It is very small—a trace amount—but it is nevertheless present. Although it appears to be inflicting no damage to you, there is always a chance it may transfer to others. Until we discover a method that will eradicate it from your blood completely, you must exercise precautions with those with whom you are close._

I understood what he meant well enough: I wasn't allowed to touch anyone else, not even accidentally, until the Silent Brothers devised some sort of way to get it out of me. I didn't want to explain to Mom why I couldn't hug her when I left. Exhaling softly, I gave a short nod. "I will," I promised.

 _The only other recorded case of a similar situation occurred a century ago,_ Jem explained. _Since it concerned a warlock and not a Shadowhunter, there is little information in the archives._

"Tessa," I breathed. She had told me that after Changing into the angel Ithuriel, she became feverish and ill, unable to stand the transformation. It had had a lasting effect on her abilities as well; she'd no longer been able to touch the minds of those she Changed into. "So why has the heavenly fire not affected me as it did her?"

 _She was consumed by it,_ Jem replied, and I wondered if he was recalling the memory. _There is a far lesser quantity in your blood. Additionally, the nature of the opposing forces within her—angelic and demonic parentage—prevented the immediate dissolution of the heavenly fire._

I was trying hard to sound nonchalant, but I couldn't keep a hint of worry from entering my voice. "Then this won't harm me?"

 _It is highly unlikely,_ Enoch said, and my shoulders sagged in relief. _However, you will need to be monitored closely in case there are any changes. In the meantime we will continue to peruse the archives for any pertinent information._

Did this "close monitoring" mean that I would get to see Jem more often? I hoped Enoch couldn't sense my sudden delight as he inclined his head and strode away, leaving Jem and I alone in the room. I wondered if he had done it on purpose—but no, that was ridiculous.

"I suppose Tessa told you that I'm leaving, then," I said quietly, staring down at my feet. Damn it, where was my newfound courage now? I knew I would regret it for days if I didn't take as many chances as I could to look at his face.

 _Yes,_ Jem replied. There was a minute pause, a beat of silence longer than I'd anticipated, and then, _If I may ask, what path have you chosen to pursue?_

I gingerly raised my eyes to meet his blind gaze—my heart stuttered—and I admitted, "Well, according to the Clave, I have no choice but to finish my training. I became a Shadowhunter out of necessity, and it looks like I'll have to complete my training out of necessity, too. After that…I'm thinking of going to New York and studying music. It's what I've always wanted to do."

 _I know,_ he said, and I felt a faint surprise. I had told him that, hadn't I, over a century ago. The notion that he remembered such an inconsequential fact about me nearly brought tears to my eyes. _And your mother is remaining in Idris?_

I nodded, grateful for a change of topic. "The Clave isn't too thrilled about it, but she has no choice now. Buford Fairchild offered to train her." I paused. "He's a descendant of Charlotte and Henry, right?"

Jem inclined his head. _A great-grandson. They would be proud._

I smiled, but my stomach twisted painfully. Would Will be proud of _me?_ What would he have said, all those years ago, if he had known "future girl" was one of his descendants? I wasn't sure whether Tessa was proud of me or not; she had certainly made it clear that she didn't agree with all of my decisions. I looked up at Jem, wanting so badly to ask him about Will, but I didn't want him to hurt him by mentioning his _parabatai,_ not when he had lost so much already. So I opened my mouth and, predictably, said the stupidest possible thing I could have uttered: "I—I—I guess this is goodbye, then."

Jem noticeably stiffened, although his mental voice was steady as he answered, _Yes, I believe it is._

I swallowed hard. "Will you visit the Los Angeles Institute?"

 _As often as I can._ He paused, as if about to say something else, and then halted. If Silent Brothers could be flustered, I would have no doubt that he was struggling for words. _Abby, I must tell you that what you attempted to do for me—the risks you took—_ He abruptly cut himself off, and his hand went to his eyes. He turned away from me, his shoulders hunched as if holding back some deeply buried well of emotion. _I cannot properly express the gratitude I feel, and yet—_

It was almost painful, hearing him try to form complete sentences, to call forth his composure again. But if I could spark such a reaction in one who had spent the past century cut off from humanity, what did that say about me? I had the horrible, panicked sense that I was running out of time to speak, that at any moment Brother Enoch would reappear and we would be separated for good, and I had to tell him I loved him before it was too late. "Jem, wait!" I said desperately, and unthinkingly reached forward to grab his wrist.

The second my fingers touched his skin, a blazing, white-hot pain shot through my hand and up my arm, causing me to jump back as if I had been electrocuted. Jem stumbled back too, and with utter shock I saw that his robes were on _fire—_ flames licking his body, engulfing him—

I screamed, but it was too late; the fire was spreading through me, too, and now it felt like I was touching a hundred hot irons at once—I couldn't think, I couldn't _breathe—_

And then the agony was suddenly, simply gone, and I was left doubled over, gasping, with my hands braced against my knees. The ceiling of the Basilias with its design of healing runes spun above me, and I dimly felt my eyes roll back up into my head before everything disappeared.

* * *

"Abby? Abby, can you hear me?"

The voice was my mother's; I groaned and reluctantly opened my eyes, giving a small start when I saw her hovering over me. "Geez, Mom, could you get any closer?" I muttered, pressing my hand to my forehead and sitting up.

For a moment I forgot what had happened; I was still in the Basilias, still in my gear, only this time Mom was with me and the world outside the windows was dark. But then it all came rushing back at once—my conversation with Jem, grabbing his wrist to prevent him from leaving, the flames enveloping him and the blinding, scorching heat in my own body. I stared frantically around the room, but I was the only occupant. "Where's Jem—Brother Zachariah?" I demanded, turning to her. "He was burning—I did something to him—"

"I don't know," Mom answered, looking slightly alarmed by my vehemence. "All the Silent Brothers told me was that something happened with the heavenly fire."

I jumped to my feet, the world tilting on its axis and making me dizzy. "No," I said, shaking my head madly. "I did—I killed him—"

 _You did not kill him,_ a different voice echoed in my head, and Brother Enoch ghosted into the infirmary, closely followed by Tessa and Grandma, both of whom were pale and white with shock. _In fact, you did not even harm him._

"What do you mean?" I snapped, harsher than I'd intended, impatiently shrugging off Mom's attempts to hold me back. "I saw the fire. It consumed him—"

 _Yes, that much is correct,_ Enoch replied, sounding unfazed by my hysteria. _The direct contact transferred the heavenly fire in you to Zachariah. But rest assured that he will live._

"I still hurt him though, didn't I?" I searched Tessa's face for clues first and then Grandma's; both were clearly shaken. "Where is he?"

Tessa spoke this time, and her voice was thick, as if she was holding back tears. "Abby, please take our word for it that Jem is fine. Only the Silent Brothers are allowed to see him at the moment."

But I hadn't come this far, hadn't bargained with the faeries and nearly sacrificed myself just to sit back and wait to find out what had happened to him. Without another word, I broke into a run and sprinted out of the infirmary, ignoring the calls after me.

I found myself in a long, winding corridor dimly lit by witchlight, flickering shadows dancing across the floor and licking up the walls. Everything was deathly silent. Heart in my throat, I jogged down the corridor, twisting deeper into the Basilias, peering into the rooms that lined the hall but finding them all empty. Tessa had said only the Silent Brothers could visit him; I prayed that didn't mean he was back in the Silent City.

"Abby."

The voice sounded, very quietly, from behind me. But it wasn't my name that caused me to freeze—it was the voice itself, the peculiar musical quality to it, that made me stop in my tracks. A voice that I would recognize anywhere, maybe even better than my own. But up until now, I had only heard it in my mind.

I turned around, very slowly, and my eyes fell on a boy standing some ten feet away. He wore the parchment robes of the Silent Brothers, and yet he was not a Silent Brother. His hair was dark now, an inky black that was matched only by the color of the night sky, and his eyes were just a shade lighter than his hair. Two faint runes were Marked on his cheekbones, and the edge of a long-faded _parabatai_ rune was visible above his collar. He was slim and pale, but no longer alarmingly so. And he was staring at me with an expression so utterly overwhelming that I didn't have a proper word for it.

"Jem?" I croaked. It was both a statement and a question. There was no possible way it could be him—not Zachariah, not the ethereal boy of my memories, but someone healthy and human. My panicked mind shot back to the Eidolon demon that had posed as Jem—

And then he moved forward, closer to me, and the look in his eyes was one that no demon would ever have been able to mimic. A thousand emotions were chasing themselves across his face, and his eyes looked very bright, as if he was holding back tears. "It is you," I murmured, and a shudder passed through his body at the sound of my voice. "How—?" I wanted to close the distance between us, to throw my arms around him and never let go, but I was still frozen to the spot. I couldn't even blink.

"It was the heavenly fire," Jem said, though he seemed only partly concentrating on the words. He was staring at my face, at me, with wide eyes, as if he was seeing me for the first time. "It burned the _yin fen_ from my body and therefore undid the rituals that tied me to the Brotherhood. And only I am left." He broke our gazes and stared down at himself almost wonderingly.

It was a long time before I was able to form proper words again. "So you—you're—" I stammered, "No longer a Silent Brother? You're free?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up in something close to amusement. "I highly doubt they wish to keep me around, so yes, I am…free." He paused, as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. "I was searching for you. Brother Enoch told me you were hurt."

"Don't worry about that," I whispered. "I'm fine. Jem…" I blinked furiously, trying to chase away the blurred tears so I could see him clearly. "I love you," I blurted out. If this _was_ all a hallucination, I might as well make the most of it.

His eyes softened, and I could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the movement of his throat as he spoke. _"Wǒ ài nǐ,_ Abby," he murmured. "You have saved me. It has…it has always been you."

The sound that came out of my mouth was either a choke or a sob—maybe both—and then suddenly I was in his arms, so much warmer and softer and more human than Zachariah's had been. Jem's strength appeared to have failed him too—we were suddenly on the floor together, our bodies a tangle of arms and legs. I didn't remember falling, nor did I care. Like our very first kiss in the London Institute's carriage, I had no idea who had stepped forward first, who had initiated the first move. Maybe it was both of us.

"Abby," Jem breathed, his breath tickling my skin, and then stopped. He gave a tiny shudder and closed his eyes, as if he couldn't believe it, as if he was trying to pull himself back together. "May I—"

"Yes," I whispered, without knowing what he was about to ask. "Anything."

I saw him swallow, and then he raised his hand to mine, trembling slightly. He was so close that I could feel our distance like a physical ache, and I had to force myself to keep still. Jem's eyes were wide as his fingers brushed my skin, very lightly, his hand cradling the shape of my face. I automatically leaned into his touch, my lips parting, and he exhaled shakily. Slowly, carefully, he touched my lips, my eyes, my face, as if he was a blind man seeing for the first time. I was so warm that I felt as if I was about to burst into flames; the fire in my veins burned hotter than ever before.

"Kiss me," I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them. We were so _close_ , and yet so far apart—his touch was feather-soft, but I couldn't stand it. "Jem, _please."_

I almost expected him to refuse, or at the very least, slowly lean forward—but I was not expecting the tenderness of his previous touches to translate into something wild. His arms tightened around me, pulling me so close to him that his grip was almost physically painful, so that I could hear and feel his breath coming fast and loud against my skin and his strong heart pounding away in his chest. I reached out blindly for him and our mouths finally met in a desperate, ragged kiss. I heard him gasp against my lips, and Jem placed one hand on the back of my head so he could draw me closer to him, the other wrapping around my waist as his fingers splayed against my shirt, bunching up the material. For someone who was a hundred years out of practice, he was quite adept at kissing.

When we broke apart, breathing hard, there were tears clinging to my eyelashes but I didn't care. Jem was shaking madly, his arms still tight around me. "It will take some time, I think, for the humanity to completely return to me," he said, sounding breathless, and gave me a hesitant, crooked smile that was so _Jem_ -like I had to restrain myself from kissing him again. He might have been the one coming back to humanity, but I hadn't quite dwelled on what a healthy Jem would mean for _me._

"I'm sorry," I apologized, and he chuckled gently, catching my wrist in his own.

"Do not be sorry, Abby," Jem murmured. "I am just…overwhelmed. Brother Enoch warned me that this would be a gradual process. For so long, I was existing, but not truly living. It was like being encased in ice. I was not allowed to grow, to change, as Will and Tessa were. As you might imagine, it is a rare Silent Brother indeed who chooses this path at such a young page. I am both one hundred years old and seventeen years old."

I pulled back an inch to stare at his face. There were golden flecks in his eyes now, and a single streak of silver in his hair—the last remnant of the _yin fen._ "After all I tried to do—all of it failed, except for this," I whispered. "Something I didn't even anticipate."

"The Angel works in strange ways," he said, looking thoughtful. "After you have seen all that I have, you cannot deny the existence of a deity. I did not truly believe in God until I became a Silent Brother."

I paused, lowering my head to stare at our intertwined hands. Jem's long fingers were holding mine with a grip that wouldn't have been possible when he was ill. "And what about Will?" I asked haltingly. "What do you believe happened to him?"

Jem's mouth twitched upwards in a slight but wistful smile. "I shall see him again someday," he replied, his voice taking on an edge of almost hopeful sadness. "My faith in that has never wavered." He followed my gaze down to our linked fingers, his thumb catching on the Carstairs ring. "You still wear it," he murmured.

"Yes," I said, baffled. "I haven't taken the ring or the pendant off. Do—do you want them back?"

Jem's eyes widened slightly. "No, of course not," he replied hurriedly. "They are yours now. It was never conditional. I fear you may not have understood that."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"No matter what happened to me, I always wished for you to have them as a symbol of what we once shared," Jem whispered. His eyes were locked on mine. "I gave them to you when I believed I would die. It was…foolish of me, I see that now, to ask you to marry me when I knew we would have only a few months together, if that. But I was selfish, and I thought they would be a reminder of me when I was gone and you were back home. I asked you to throw your life away for me, but you were never obligated to wear my father's ring or my mother's pendant."

My voice was hoarse when I answered. "Never think that I was throwing my life away, Jem, because I wasn't," I said firmly. "It was my choice to marry you, and I would never have hidden the jewelry, even if I lived to be a hundred years old myself. But I…when Tessa told me about Changing into Ithuriel, she said that she burned with heavenly fire, too. If she had touched you then, you would have been cured."

"Yes, I believe so," Jem said quietly.

"If you had known, then, would you have chosen it?"

I expected Jem to consider it, to word his answer in a way that didn't hurt my feelings, but he spoke as if he already knew what he was going to say, and I realized too late that he had come to this conclusion long before I had, that he already knew the answer. "No, I would not have done it, Abby," he whispered. "I would have waited for this. For you. And I will still wait for you, if you…if you still wish for us to be together. If you still want me."

"I will always want you, Jem Carstairs," I murmured, and rested my forehead against his.

* * *

_**One Month Later** _

_I now pronounce James Carstairs and Abigail Cartwright man and wife,_ Brother Enoch announced, and the Accords Hall rang with applause. Jem placed a light hand on my waist and drew me close, his dark eyes burning with emotion, and I stood on my toes to kiss him as I wrapped my arms around his neck. His short, almost surprised intake of breath made me smile against his lips, deepening the kiss for one tantalizing second before we broke apart.

And that was it. We were finally married, after everything we had gone through, after all the time that had passed. When I turned to look at the row of guests, Jem pulling me close against his side, I marveled at just how different this was from what I'd envisioned the day he had proposed to me. We weren't in a church in London, but in the Accords Hall in Alicante; the witnesses weren't made up of Will and Sophie and Charlotte and Henry, but of Mom and Tessa and Grandma and Magnus. But most of all, Jem wasn't silver-haired and ill anymore; he was dark-haired and healthy, with an entire life left ahead of him. While we had been reciting the marriage vows and drawing runes on each other, I hadn't been able to take my eyes off of him, and silently kept thanking the Angel that somehow, fate had finally turned in Jem's favor. And I couldn't believe that he still wanted to marry me; that whenever I looked in his eyes I still saw the same tenderness and dizzying love that I had in 1878.

The days leading up to the wedding had been the worst—I'd barely left Jem's side, terrified that something would take him away from me again, this time for good. And even now that all was said and done, and I bore the Wedded Union rune on my skin and had signed my name as Abigail Carstairs, I still couldn't quite comprehend that we were now married. I had a feeling it would take some time to get used to the notion.

But there were worse things to get used to, and I was counting the seconds until our wedding night. I had been careful around Jem, allowing him to slowly regain his humanity piece by piece. I knew he was still overwhelmed at times, even if he didn't outwardly show it, and the last thing I wanted was to push him too far too soon. Our kisses had been slow and gentle at first as he gradually became used to touch again, but I could tell that he was beginning to grow impatient with the pace as much as I was. Even as inexperienced as I was, I knew that we would consummate our marriage as soon as possible. Jem might have been a Silent Brother for a century, but he was still a man.

After the ceremony, Magnus had agreed—after much cajoling by Tessa—to create a Portal that would take us to Shanghai, where we would spend our honeymoon. While we wouldn't be staying at the Institute there—Jem told me that the memories he had of the place were still painful for him—I knew that he wished to return there, even if it was just for an afternoon. I was looking forward to him showing me around the city he'd been born and raised in, as different as it undoubtedly was today. We would have two weeks to ourselves before I was called back to Los Angeles to complete my training. While Jem was, technically, no longer an active Shadowhunter—the Clave had agreed he'd served them more than enough over the years—he would still accompany me to the Institute and assist in my studies. As for what would happen after that, I had no idea, though I had never quite given up on my dream of New York and Juilliard. Jem had made it quite clear that he would follow me anywhere I wanted to go. "I have seen enough of the world, Abby," he'd told me when I questioned him. "Now it is your turn."

Remembering the soft smile he had given me as he spoke, I turned my head up to him as we descended the stairs, interlocking our fingers together. As if he could sense my gaze, Jem glanced down at me and I could see his pupils dilate. He bent down to press his lips to my hair just before we reached the others, and my heart stuttered. I didn't think it would ever stop doing that whenever he touched me. _I love you,_ I thought, for the thousandth time that day.

My mother reached us first; she had started crying before I'd even walked up the aisle, and unfortunately didn't seem close to stopping anytime soon. "You look so beautiful, Abby," she sniffled, throwing her arms around me. I cast Grandma a helpless glance over her shoulder, and to my relief she came to my rescue, gently drawing Mom away from me. "Careful, Grace, you don't want to ruin her dress," she said, and thankfully my mother obeyed.

Tessa was up next; she wasn't crying, but her gray eyes were bright and shining as she took both of my hands in her own, Will's anniversary bracelet gleaming on her slim wrist. "Congratulations, Abby," she said fervently. "You and Jem have waited for this day for so long. I cannot think of anyone who deserves happiness and peace more than the two of you."

"Thank you, Tess," I replied, squeezing her hand. "And thank you for the heels—they fit perfectly."

She gave a watery smile. "I thought they might."

The pair of gold heels I wore had once belonged to Lucie, and had been worn on her own wedding day. Tessa had been gracious enough to allow me to wear them in turn. My dress had been purchased from a local shop here in Alicante, and its delicate threads glittered like the sun. My hair was twisted up into an elegant bun like the ones Sophie used to weave, and the diamond earrings hanging from my ears belonged to Tessa herself.

A loud meow sounded from under my feet, and I glanced down to see Church winding around my dress, a gold ribbon tied around his collar. I laughed; it figured that the cat was still alive and well a hundred years later—whatever experiments had been done to him had apparently made him immortal. It wasn't at all surprising that, despite his vast life experience, he was still every bit as grumpy as I remembered.

"Oh, Church," Tessa sighed, and gathered him up in her arms. "You're just happy Jem is back."

"That makes two of us," I remarked, and we shared a grin.

It was then that I noticed the figure leaning against the wall at the back of the chamber; a figure who had most certainly not been there before. The smile slowly faded from my lips as I stared at him: a boy who couldn't be more than a year or two older than me, with messy blond hair and dark eyes. His face was turned towards me, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

"I'll—I'll be back," I choked to Tessa, and with a quick glance over at Jem, who was talking with Magnus, I gathered up my dress and hurried across the chamber to him, afraid that if I took my eyes off him he would disappear—

But he was still as corporeal as ever when I reached him. He was dressed in Shadowhunter gear and had a rugged look to him, as if he had just stepped out of a battle. With my heels on, I was nearly as tall as he was. _"Dad,"_ I breathed. I was blinking rapidly, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. "How—how are you here?"

"I have always been here, Abby," my father said. "I have always been beside you."

"But—I—why—"

He laughed so loudly I almost expected the others to hear him. "I couldn't miss my daughter's wedding, could I?" he replied. "I wanted to tell you how proud I am. You are a better Shadowhunter than I ever was."

"Dad—"

"I mean it." His face suddenly grew serious. "I cannot spend much time here, Abby. I have already spent far too long in this form. I just wanted to speak to you directly, for you to know that you have never been alone."

I wanted to reach out and touch him, but part of me knew that my hands would only meet empty air. "I think I always knew that," I admitted.

He smiled, and his face was a cross between a handsome teenager and someone far older. Like Jem was now. "The others miss you," he said. "They send their love."

"The—the others?" I stammered, though it was a rhetorical question. Will's face popped into my mind. "They're watching, too?"

"As they have always been." Dad's eyes flickered to something behind me, and I saw his face relax. "He will be good to her," he mused. Turning, I saw that he was watching Mom and Buford Fairchild, whose heads were bent together as they whispered to each other. Buford had one hand resting on her shoulder.

I raised my eyebrows. "But there's nothing between them. She never even looked at another man when I was growing up."

"No, but I wish she had," Dad said plainly. "Grace deserves someone who will not rush blindly into danger as I did. But she knows this. I have spoken to her, too."

I blinked. "You have?"

"Yes. Why do you think she accepted your marriage so easily?" A tiny smirk appeared on his face, and he straightened up, his form beginning to flicker at the edges. "And now it is time for you to begin again. Goodbye, Abby."

I watched in dismay as he began to fade away. "Dad—" I protested, not wanting him to leave, but it was too late: he had already disappeared.

I sensed Jem's presence behind me even before he took my hand and raised it to his lips. I leaned back into his embrace, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. "Is it time to leave?" I asked.

"Not quite yet," Jem replied. "Come with me. Keep your eyes closed."

Confused, I did as he asked, allowing him to guide me forward. The sound of chatter slowly faded away as he led me into what I assumed was the antechamber, placing a steadying hand on my back as we descended a set of stairs. He moved at my pace, never speeding up or betraying any sign of impatience. I supposed that he knew my already poor balance wasn't made any better by my current footwear.

When I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer, I finally said, "Jem, where are you taking me?"

"I want to show you something," Jem replied just as we came to a stop at last. I felt him usher me inside a room and close the door behind us. "Do you remember the day Gabriel Lightwood burst inside the Institute and told us that Benedict had turned into a worm?"

"Vividly," I said dryly.

Jem laughed softly. "Then you recall me telling you that I wished to show you something."

I nodded. "Unfortunately, you never got the chance."

"Well, I have the chance now. Open your eyes, Abby," Jem said, and I did, stifling a gasp at the sight before me.

We were in a large gallery—not the size of the Accords Hall, but large enough to comfortably fit at least a hundred people—and musical instruments were scattered throughout the hall, from a church-organ to a grand piano in the corner. A stained-glass ceiling sent a kaleidoscope of colors whirling across the floor, red and green and blue. I slowly pivoted in the center of the room, trying to take it all in. "What is this place?" I asked.

"The Clave stores their instruments here between celebrations," Jem explained. "Only a select few others know of it, Silent Brothers included." His mouth quirked upwards, and my heart began to beat faster when I saw he was holding a violin in his hand. "I came here on occasion when I had business in Idris," he said, his eyes taking on a faraway look as he twirled the bow in his fingers. "After Will and Tessa left the London Institute, I had nowhere else I could play the violin." He glanced up at me almost hesitantly. "I wrote you a song," he confessed. "My music began to change shortly after your arrival, and I am ashamed it took me so long to realize why. I wished to play this for you on our wedding night, but I was never given the opportunity."

"Jem, I…" I began, and then trailed off. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't even sure I _could_ speak. Luckily Jem seemed to know that my silence was a stunned one, and for the first time since I had seen him again, he raised the bow to his violin and began to play.

The melody began softly, sweetly; Jem's eyes drifted shut and it was as if he was harnessing the music instead of playing it himself; his fingers moved across the strings so deftly that I couldn't keep track of which notes he was playing. The music rose and fell and then rose again, its tempo beginning to quicken and rise in intensity. I was riveted to the spot, my mouth open, unable to move even if I'd wanted to. The world seemed to spin around me, empty of anyone but Jem, and I felt as if he was giving his very _soul_ to me, as if he was playing his very self in the music—

And then it stopped abruptly, the note cut off instead of naturally fading into silence. It took me a long time to gather my composure again and choke out, "Why—why did you stop? That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"Because," Jem said, with a beatific smile, "Our story is not finished yet."

I wiped my eyes, still breathless, and managed to gasp, "I—I have something for you, too." Without waiting for his response, I walked over and took a seat at the piano, running my fingers over the keys. I hadn't played Jem's theme in so long—not since I'd left 1878—but there would never be a better opportunity to play it than today.

The first notes were shaky, and I feared that I had forgotten it—but then I felt Jem slide next to me on the bench, our knees brushing together, and it all came back to me in a whirl of memories. So, keeping my eyes fixed on the keys, I played the song I had unconsciously written for him. I played the fear I had felt when I'd first arrived in the past, and Jem being the first one to comfort me. I played the horror of his illness, and the first time we had kissed, and the night we had made love. I played of his proposal and the stolen kisses in the Institute corridors, of the summer nights spent sleeping side by side. And lastly, I played of my return to 1978 and my joy that he was still living, albeit in a changed form, and the emotions that had run through me when he'd been transformed; emotions that could not be properly expressed in words. When I finished, my fingers were sore and I felt a slight jolt as I was pulled back to the present. After a moment of silence, I hesitantly peered over at Jem.

I had never seen him cry before—not properly, anyway—but there was no other word to explain what he was doing now. His cheeks were wet, his chest heaving, and the look in his eyes was so intense I couldn't hold it for more than a brief moment. "Abby," he murmured, opening his mouth and then closing it again. He was lost for words.

"Does that mean you like it?" I asked shyly, trying to hide my grin.

Jem didn't even bother answering that—he pulled me toward him and kissed me until I was dizzy and delirious. We would likely have gone even farther if I hadn't taken my lips off of his long enough to whisper, "I think I finally understand what it all means. What I'm supposed to do."

"And what is that?" Jem asked. He was tracing circles around my bare throat, and I shivered, wanting very badly to be alone in a bedroom with the entire night ahead of us, but I had to concentrate before I forgot how to speak entirely.

"Everyone is asking me what I'm going to do with my future, if I want to remain a Shadowhunter or not," I said, pulling back just enough so that I could meet his eyes. "But I'm realizing now that it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, as long as you and I are together."


End file.
